


Someday Your Child May Cry

by sunflowerseedsandscience



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Between the Scenes, F/M, IVF arc, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseedsandscience/pseuds/sunflowerseedsandscience
Summary: Beginning with the events of "The End" and ending sometime after "The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati," and told in a series of between-the-scene vignettes, this is my re-imagining of Season Six. Amid the re-emergence of Diana Fowley and the loss of the X-Files, Scully tries, with Mulder's help, to turn the impossible into reality.The title is taken from the Billy Joel song "Lullaby (Goodnight My Angel)."





	1. Question

At first, the only thing that Mulder feels is a stupendous sense of relief.

His first thought, when Scully had asked to come over tonight, had been the same thing it always is whenever Scully says she has something important to talk to him about: he had worried that she was finally leaving. Leaving the basement, leaving the Bureau, leaving law enforcement... leaving _him_. And once her words have penetrated to the extent that he understands that he's not going to be suddenly and painfully deprived of her companionship, the knot of dread that has taken up residence in his gut finally begins to dissipate.

And then he realizes what she's just asked him.

_Shit._

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have been able to see this coming. He had known about her doctor's appointment this afternoon, had known its purpose, and it should have been a fairly quick and easy leap of logic from there to where he and Scully are sitting now. If the news had been good, it would make sense that Scully's next step would be to figure out the other half of the equation with which her doctor had presented her. She could have just used an anonymous donor, certainly, but there's a lot of uncertainty in that... and he's well-aware, by now, that Scully never deals in uncertainty if she can avoid it.

It follows, then, that the next logical step would be to ask a favor from a man she trusts. And unless she's been doing an astoundingly good job of keeping something from him, he's at the top of what is likely a very short list.

It doesn't escape him that she hasn't specified the exact capacity in which she expects him to involve himself. Will his contribution end with his donation, or will she want more than that? He's not sure which is more terrifying- the idea that she wants his role in this hypothetical child's life to end with a gasp and a jerk into a sterile plastic cup... or the idea that she wants him to be there, to be present, for the whole thing.

To be a father.

A father to Scully's child.

Mulder suddenly realizes that he has voiced precisely none of these musings, that he has, in fact, been sitting here, staring at his coffee table, in total silence, for at least a full minute since Scully had stopped speaking. He glances up to find her chewing her lips the way she does when she's nervous, and he reaches out, across the couch, trying to capture her hand in his. She gives him her fingertips- barely- and when he meets her eyes, he suddenly realizes how terrified she is, how difficult it must have been for her to come here, to ask him for something so intimate and personal. But before he can open his mouth to try and allay her fears, she speaks.

"I don't want you to answer me yet," she tells him. "I'm aware that I'm asking a lot."

"Scully, you're not-" She holds up her hand, and he falls silent.

"I'm also aware," she continues, "that this crosses all sorts of lines when it comes to what's considered... appropriate." He wants to interrupt her again, but he bites his tongue and waits. "I want you to think about it for at least twenty-four hours," she says. "The whole weekend, if you want. One way or another, I don't want your answer until at least this time on Saturday." He nods solemnly, and she huffs out a deep breath and stands. "I'm going to head out," she says. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" And she turns and leaves, striding quickly out of his living room before he can stop her.

The sound of his front door closing jerks him out of his trance, and he leaps to his feet, rushing after her to call her back.

But as his hand closes on the doorknob, he pauses, thinking. Scully knows that he's terrible at following directions, that he jumps into things without giving any thought to the consequences, that he's reckless and careless and dangerous. And none of these are qualities that Scully would accept in someone with whom she's going to raise a child.

Not that she's given him any indication, yet, that she wants him to be that involved. But if she's considering it, wouldn't it be to his advantage to prove to her, just this once, that he's perfectly capable of following instructions- at least, when it comes to this?

Reluctantly, he lets go of the doorknob and shelves his enthusiastic, whole-hearted "Yes!" for this time tomorrow.

 

\-----------------------

 

Standing in the hallway, her back pressed firmly against the wall next to Mulder's door, Scully holds her breath as she listens to the doorknob rattling under his hand. She waits... but after a moment, there's silence. He is not, then, going to come running out after her.

She takes five long, deep, measured breaths... and pulls herself upright, and leaves.


	2. Preparations

There are things that must be done, now that Mulder has given Scully his answer, and thanks to the research he’d spent most of the night and the following morning doing after she had left his apartment on Friday night, he’s got a fairly good handle on what all of this will entail.

First, of course, is his meeting with Dr. Parenti. Mulder provides the doctor with a detailed family health history, the finer points of which he obtains after retreating to another room to make a very awkward phone call to his mother. Teena Mulder becomes instantly alarmed at the nature of her son’s questions, and his repeated assurances that he is not in the midst of a health scare do nothing to alleviate her concerns. Rather, this new information only serves to make her even more suspicious, and as Mulder has no intentions whatsoever of telling her the real reason for his needing this information, it takes quite some time to get her off the phone.

(There’s a space, at the bottom of the form, for “additional information,” and he opts to leave out the aforementioned tendency towards alien abduction; he figures that, since the kid’s going to be dealing with the same thing from his mother’s side, that base has already been covered.)

“How did it go?” Scully asks him, when he arrives back in the office after his appointment. She’s doing a reasonably good job of concealing her anxiety.

“Fine, fine,” he tells her. “Dr. Parenti confirmed what I’ve told you before: the Mulder family passes genetic muster.” She chuckles at the memory of that long-ago conversation, those words casually tossed out during a more innocent time, before either of them had had any idea that measures like these would, one day, be necessary.

It strikes Mulder, as he thinks back to what he had told her that day, that this could be an ideal time to broach the topic of what, exactly, they’re going to do if this is successful. But the moment he opens his mouth, Scully, wearing a pretty close facsimile to his own panic face, flips open the folder containing their latest case and launches into a thorough summation of the information they’ve gathered so far.

Okay, message received: she’s not ready to talk about this yet. He supposes, given the chances of success (he’s looked it up, and the possibility is nowhere near as strong as he’d like it to be), it’s a conversation they may never need to have, so if she wants to cross that bridge if and when they come to it, he’ll follow her lead.

 

\-----------------------

 

The side effects of the progesterone injections take Scully completely by surprise.

None of it should be a shock- she’s a medical doctor, after all, and plus, she’s been brushing up on the topic- but knowing about the mood swings and heightened emotions that can occur and _experiencing_ them are two very different things.

The first time it happens in front of Mulder, it’s because he brings her a decaf latte in the morning. She’d mentioned in passing, days ago, that she’s decided to give up caffeine now, before the embryo transfer, so that if it takes, she’ll already have decreased her dependency on the daily half a pot of coffee that has become the norm for her. She’s so touched that Mulder has remembered this that tears spring to her eyes as he places the cup in her hands. He instantly looks horrified.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is that not right? You said you wanted to give up caffeine early, and I thought- I mean, I can go back and get-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” she tells him, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. “This is perfect. I just... I was touched that you remembered, that’s all.” Mulder doesn’t look at all reassured by this.

“Geez, am I that thoughtless?” he asks her. “It’s really not a big deal, Scully. It wasn’t a problem to do.”

“You’re not thoughtless,” says Scully, reaching out and taking his hand. “It’s these stupid injections, that’s all. I cried while watching a life insurance commercial last night.” Mulder laughs.

“So I definitely won't be taking you to see the latest Julia Roberts movie, then,” he says, sitting down at his desk with his own latte and kicking his feet back.

“Probably not a good idea,” she agrees. “Which, I’m sure, is very upsetting to you.”

“I’m devastated,” he says, deadpan. “But I’m thinking I’ll just take you to see Big Daddy, instead. Much more appropriate for us right now.” Scully freezes in the process of opening her briefcase. Does he mean...?

They haven’t talked about this yet, mostly because she has no idea exactly how to broach the topic. If he were to ask her, right now, how involved she wants him to be if things go the way she’s hoping they will, she would have her answer ready... but it’s not the kind of thing they could really come back from if he decides he’s not okay with it.

She shelves it. No sense in worrying about something that might not even come to pass.


	3. Irrational

She tells herself, firmly, that it’s just the hormones.

She’s being completely irrational. Of _course_ she is. Old friends can hold hands without it meaning anything deeper. Mulder has held _her_ hand on more than one occasion. He hasn’t seen Diana Fowley in at least five years, and she had obviously meant something to him once; isn’t it natural for him to be happy to see her again?

And after all, if whatever relationship he’d had with her had been anything truly serious, Mulder would have mentioned her before... wouldn’t he?

Of course, he’s not under any obligation to tell her all the details of his romantic past. Beyond her own relationship with Jack Willis, she’s never shared any stories of the men she had been involved with before meeting him. That’s the sort of conversation that comes at the start of a romantic relationship, not a professional partnership.

Still... she and Mulder, they’re friends, aren’t they? He hasn’t volunteered any information about Agent Fowley at all. Why is he being so cagey? 

It’s the hormones, she tells herself. The hormones, and the stress about the upcoming embryo transfer, which could take place in as little as a week, if everything goes well at Mulder’s appointment in two days. She’s worried, she’s scared, she’s not completely herself at the moment. These moments of irrationality are to be expected, and she’s just going to have to be on the lookout for them, be ready to rise above them.

Still, whether it’s irrational or not, she doesn’t quite feel equal to the task of striding into that room and breaking up their intimate moment. Calling Mulder from the car seems safer, for now, with the damned progesterone messing with her emotions, making her feel things she knows can’t be real.

Because she _can’t_ be jealous. She just can’t.


	4. Confession

With Scully taking a shift guarding Gibson, Mulder is free to take Diana to dinner, which he does. She fills him in- a bit- on where she’s been, these past six years, but since there’s a good deal she can’t tell him, they spend most of the meal talking about Gibson, about the possibilities he might represent. When they’re finished eating, Mulder drives Diana home.

In front of her building, Diana reaches across the center console, laying a hand on Mulder’s arm. Her soft smile takes him back years, back to the days before any of this… before cancer, before labs full of clones, before mysterious children appearing out of nowhere only to die… before Scully.

“Listen, Fox, why don’t you come up for a little while?” Diana asks him. “I don’t think either of us is ready for the evening to be over just yet.” Mulder hesitates. “Just to talk,” she reassures him. “We haven’t seen each other in years, Fox. I’ve missed so much since I’ve been gone… won’t you come up and fill me in on everything you’ve found since I left?”

Mulder glances at the clock on the dashboard. He’s due at the fertility clinic first thing in the morning… but it’s only eight-thirty, not really that late, especially not for him. He shrugs.

“Why not?” he says, and Diana beams. They get out of the car, and as he steps up onto the sidewalk beside her, she takes his arm, leading him into the swank apartment building. He gazes around the posh lobby as they pass through, impressed.

“Counter-terrorism must have paid a whole hell of a lot better than the X-Files,” he observes, as they step into a walnut-paneled elevator. Diana chuckles.

“I’ve made some wise investments over the years,” she says. “A few of them have paid off quite handsomely.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. “From what I understand, you could afford better than your Hegel Place apartment yourself, these days.” He ducks his head, and her face softens with sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your father, Fox,” she tells him. “That must have been very hard. I know your relationship was… complicated.”

“To say the least,” grumbles Mulder. “What makes you think I inherited anything, though?”

“I assumed you would,” says Diana, as the elevator arrives on the seventh floor, and the doors slide smoothly open. They exit into a wide, stark-white hallway, and Diana leads him to the right. “I mean… there wasn’t anyone else to inherit his money, was there? Unless he willed it to your mother, which didn’t seem likely to me.” Mulder remains silent. Given the dubious origins of his father’s fortune, he doesn’t like to think about it that often, much less spend any of it… though, lately, he’s been wondering if maybe he could offer to pay for the next round of treatment for Scully, should tomorrow’s attempt prove unsuccessful.

“Yeah, he left everything to me,” he admits, finally. “I haven’t really felt the need to change the way I live, though. I’m fine the way I am.” They arrive at Diana’s door, and she lets them in. Her condo is spacious and lushly-appointed. It definitely doesn’t look as though she’s just moved in.

“It came already furnished and decorated,” she says, as he gazes around. “I traveled pretty light when I came back… I really didn’t want the added stress of putting together a place from scratch, not when I was anxious to get back to work as quickly as possible.” She crosses the living room to the bar along the wall, and from underneath, she brings up a bottle of Johnnie Walker. “Can I fix you one?” she asks, holding up the bottle, and he thinks for a moment. Dr. Parenti hadn’t said anything about alcohol. Mulder assumes that if it had been imperative that he abstain in the hours before his donation, the doctor would have mentioned it.

“Please,” he says, and Diana pours both of them a drink, bringing them over to the sofa and taking a seat. Mulder sits beside her and she hands him his glass.  
It’s easy to talk to her, as easy as it had been when they’d first met, and Mulder relaxes within minutes. Diana listens attentively, refilling their glasses at regular intervals, as he relates the adventures that he and Scully have had over the past five years, the things they’ve done and discovered together, the near-misses and narrow escapes, the myriad of personal losses they’ve both suffered- her, especially. When he finishes, Diana is quiet for a moment, looking thoughtfully into her glass of whiskey.

“You and Agent Scully must be very close,” she observes. “To have gone through so much together. I didn’t realize how much….” Diana looks almost embarrassed. “I’m sorry that I was so dismissive of her before, Fox, when I said that you could have used someone to back you up. She’s obviously been much more supportive of you than I realized.”

“Yeah,” says Mulder softly. “She really has been… and she’s paid the price, that much is certain.”

“Are you….” Diana looks away again. “You and Agent Scully, are you-“

“Together?” Mulder finishes for her. “No… it’s not like that. She’s, uh… I mean, we’re close, she’s my best friend, but….” He shrugs, not quite sure how to sum up the frustrating enigma that is his ever-changing relationship with Scully these days. One way or another, he doesn’t feel right discussing her with Diana. Scully is one of the most private people he’s ever known in his life, and he’s relatively certain she would be horrified that Mulder has already told Diana as much as he has.

“Well, in that case,” Diana says, carefully placing her empty glass on the coffee table, “I don’t need to feel guilty if I do this.” She slides closer, taking his face in her hands, and presses her lips to his.

It’s been so, so long since someone has touched him like this, and he goes along without hesitation. The whiskey has fogged his mind just enough that any protests he could come up with are quickly drowned- at least, until Diana reaches for his belt. He pulls back sharply.

“Diana,” he says, struggling to master his breathing, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Diana frowns in confusion.

“Is there someone else, then?” she asks. “Apart from Agent Scully?” Mulder shakes his head.

“No, there’s no one,” he says. “And at another time, I’d be all for it, it’s just... there’s something I have to do tomorrow morning, and I can’t... I mean....” He sighs. “Look, there’s no delicate way to say this, but I have to provide semen first thing tomorrow morning, and I’m not supposed to... uh... provide it in any other circumstances for at least forty-eight hours beforehand.” Diana smiles, amused.

“Fox, if you’ve inherited your father’s money, you can’t possibly be so hard up for cash that you’re selling that,” she chuckles.

“I’m not being paid,” says Mulder hastily. “It’s not like that at all. It’s, uh... it’s a favor, actually.” He swallows. “For Scully.” Diana’s face goes cold so quickly, Mulder can feel the blast of ice from where he’s sitting.

“You’re helping Agent Scully have a child.” He nods. “And then... what? Are you going to help her raise it?” He knows it’s going to upset her, but he feels like he owes her the truth.

“If she’ll allow me to, yes, I am,” he says. Diana looks away from him.

“So when I asked you about having children, and you told me you had no intentions of ever becoming a father... that was a lie?”

“No, Diana, it was true back then. But... I guess....” Diana stands abruptly and takes her glass back over to the bar, refilling it. “I’ve changed, Diana. My circumstances have changed, and I feel differently about it now.”

“What, specifically, has changed, Fox?” she asks coldly, her back still to him. “From what you’ve told me, from what you’ve learned, the world can’t possibly look any safer for a child than it did when you used that as en excuse for me. So what’s changed?” Mulder remains silent, and finally, Diana turns to glare at him. “Because from where I’m standing, the only change I can see is the woman you would be having a child with.” Mulder looks at the floor. “So what you’re really telling me, Fox, is that you didn’t want to have a child with me.” He could deny it, certainly, but he doesn’t. He nods. “But you would consider it with her?” He meets her gaze.

“Yes,” he says. “I would.” 

The last vestiges of warmth flee from Diana’s face. She tilts her glass back, draining it in one.

“I think you should leave now, Fox,” she says.

He doesn’t argue.


	5. Collateral

She knows, the moment they walk into her hospital room, that they think she’s fucked up.

She’s not sure how, exactly- the X-Files are shut down, for the time being, and when the time comes to re-open them, she’ll be on hand to take over- but the fact that there are two of them standing in her doorway is confirmation enough that they are displeased. Spender stands on the right, looking distinctly uncomfortable without his usual cigarette pinched between his fingers (though the smell of smoke coming off of him is strong enough to defeat the purpose of the hospital’s no smoking policy), and next to him is a tall, powerfully-built man, his broad, dull face a mask of complete indifference.

Spender, she’s been expecting. He had told her that she would need to be wounded in order to throw Mulder off the scent (but did it have to be the lung? A shot to the shoulder would have been sufficient), and he’s supposed to be here to put things right.

It’s the foot soldier by his side that tells her that she’s in serious trouble. She’s familiar with all of the various makes and models by now, the clones and the supersoldiers and the hybrids, and this particular version comes fully equipped with telepathic abilities. Her injuries have rendered her unable to speak. He’s here because she’s done something wrong, and they have questions for her.

“Agent Fowley,” says Spender, perfectly calm and cordial. “We couldn’t help but notice that Agent Mulder did not stay the full night at your condo last night. We were led to believe that you would be perfectly capable of keeping him there, of picking things up where you left off, so to speak.” There’s a pause, and Diana feels a twinging, insistent invasion at the edge of her thoughts. The foot soldier is reading her thoughts, and she tries to make them as clear as possible.

“Agent Mulder said something to her that hurt her,” he says in a flat, emotionless voice. “She asked him to leave.” Spender looks disgusted.

“I was right, then,” he says coldly. “You’re too close to be of any real use to us.” He nods at the foot soldier, who withdraws a syringe from his pocket and approaches the IV stand. In her head, Diana projects her thoughts at him as forcefully as she can manage, and he pauses, frowning slightly.

“She says she has information,” he tells Spender. “New information that will be more valuable to you than anything she could have gained last night.”

“And what is that?” asks Spender.

She hesitates for less than a fraction of a second. Telling Spender won’t endanger Fox’s life, and it most likely won’t even endanger Agent Scully’s. And if it does end badly for Scully… well, if that’s the price that has to be paid for Diana’s life, then so be it.

“Agents Mulder and Scully are attempting to conceive a child through in-vitro fertilization,” the foot soldier tells Spender. “She doesn’t know whether they’re using donor eggs, or if they’ve somehow managed to get their hands on the ova harvested from Agent Scully during our tests three years ago.” Spender looks intrigued.

“We know that he’s seen our storage facilities,” he muses, almost to himself. “It’s possible one of the clones at Lombard managed to get some of Agent Scully’s ova to him before we… dealt with them.” Spender taps the tips of his fingers against his lips, mulling it over. “Very well, Agent Fowley,” he says. “This information has a good deal of potential.” He nods at the foot soldier again, who replaces the syringe in his pocket and removes another, injecting it into Diana’s IV. The pain in her chest instantly begins to lessen. This, then, is what she’s been promised: she will now make an unusually rapid recovery, fast enough that the doctors will comment on it with amazement, but not so fast that they will call for tests or studies to be performed on her.

The other syringe, of course, would have ended her life in a similar way- fast, but not in an unusual enough manner to cause any undue attention.

“You have a second chance, Agent Fowley,” says Spender, flipping open his cell phone as he and the foot soldier stride towards the door of the hospital room. “See that you use it wisely.” She hears him talking to someone, giving instructions to pull Agent Scully’s medical records, to find out who her doctor is, where her doctor’s family lives and how vulnerable they are, when the embryo transfer is scheduled. A few well-placed threats will ensure the doctor’s cooperation, and Spender’s men will do the rest.

She begins to feel guilty... at least until she remembers the hurt she’d felt, the sickening jealousy at learning that Fox was more than willing to give another woman what he had, years ago, denied her.

And anyway, she consoles herself, they’re not likely to actually hurt Agent Scully. As a matter of fact, Spender’s involvement just might guarantee that the IVF will be a success.


	6. Thoughtless

He won’t put his arms around her, and she doesn’t understand why not.

He has turned to her in distress before, in hospitals and hotel rooms and hallways, in cars, in their apartments, and her arms have always been waiting to comfort him. She has held him after the death of his father; it makes sense to her that she should do the same after the death of his life’s work.

But now, he stands stiff and unmoving in the circle of her embrace. She leans her head against his bicep, and it’s like resting her cheek on a fence post, a door frame, a rigid and unyielding wall. There is no comfort to be had here.

As she turns her head into him, to rest her forehead against his, he steps back suddenly, and she stumbles forward. As she tries to regain her balance, her arm flails out, her hand grasping at the closest available object, which happens to be Mulder’s sleeve.

He jerks it out of her grasp. She just barely stops herself from falling.

She stands in the ruins of their office as he strides out of the door, past Skinner, whom he shoulders aside wordlessly. She calls after him, but he does not turn back.

 _He’s in shock_ , she tells herself. _First the loss of Gibson and Agent Fowley being shot, then losing the X-Files for the second time, and now, losing his entire office. It’s too much to take in. It probably didn’t even register that I was standing here._

But it’s cold comfort, at best, and even in the heat leftover from the conflagration, she shivers.

She doesn’t hear from him for the next three days. She doesn’t call, not until the night before the embryo transfer, when she leaves a halting and hesitant message on his answering machine, reminding him about their ten o’clock appointment. She had told him, before everything with Gibson Praise and Diana Fowley, that he didn’t have to be there if he didn’t want to, that it was a quick and easy procedure, but he had insisted that he wanted to be there to drive her home- he had read, in his research, that she should take it easy for the rest of the day once the transfer has been completed- and she had been touched.

She waits for him to come and pick her up as long as she can, but he doesn’t show. There’s no answer at his home phone and his cell goes straight to voicemail. She gives up and drives to the clinic herself.

It’s not until she’s lying on the exam table on her back and Dr. Parenti is removing his latex gloves and tossing them in the biohazard bin that she accepts, finally, that Mulder isn’t coming.

Maybe they won’t need to have that conversation about his involvement at all. 

Maybe this is his answer.

\---------------------

When Mulder leaves Diana’s hospital room and turns his cell phone back on, there’s a missed call and a voicemail from Scully. He sighs heavily as he enters his code and puts the phone to his ear to listen.

He knows it’s thoughtless of him to have avoided her for so long, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to face her since the loss of his office. He’s spent the last two days at the Gunmen’s, printing copies of whatever information he’s entrusted them with over the years, beginning the long process of re-compiling his work, his files. It’s true that he’ll have to store them in his apartment for the time being, but it’s better than admitting to a total defeat.

Diana had called him on his cell phone first thing this morning, telling him that she was out of the ICU and feeling up to receiving visitors, and he had headed straight from the Gunmen’s to the hospital, where he had been relieved beyond measure to hear that she’s been making an amazingly quick recovery from what had very nearly been a fatal wound.

Mulder’s phone informs him that he has one new message, and moments later, his ear is full of Scully’s voice, sounding worried... and sounding, really, as though she’s not sure she should even be calling him.

“Mulder, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving my apartment for the clinic now, all right? If you’re still coming, you can just meet me there. I’m sure the receptionist will send you back if you’re running late.”

_Shit._

“I, uh... I hope you’re all right, Mulder. I’ll see you there, okay?”

Mulder looks at his watch. Their appointment was at ten, and it’s twenty past now. Is there any chance that Dr. Parenti could be running behind? His consult had started ten minutes late... the clinic isn’t that far from the hospital... he might be able to make it. He sprints to his car and tears off as fast as he dares.

At the clinic, he does the worst possible job of parking and vaults out of his car, running across the lot. Inside he skips the line for the elevator and barrels up the stairs, arriving in the clinic lobby gasping for breath.

“Dana Scully,” he pants at the receptionist. “Is she still here?”

“She just left, Sir,” the woman tells him. “Barely two minutes ago.” Mulder swears, and ignoring the scandalized look on the receptionist’s face, he turns and takes off down the stairs again. He rushes through the lobby, once he’s ascertained that she’s not there, and out into the parking lot... just in time to see her car pulling out of the lot.

Even from here, he can see the tears in her eyes.


	7. Interrupted

They haven’t talked about it, haven’t addressed it at all. Mulder knows that they should, that he should apologize for his complete insensitivity, his unforgivable callousness at promising to be there for her, and then forgetting. But to bring it up could invite further discussion on things like his potential involvement, should the pregnancy take... not to mention questions about his past involvement with Diana. Neither of these are things he feels equal to talking about just yet, and so he lets it go. And after several days’ frosty reception at their new home in the bullpen, Scully seems to let it go, as well.

But when he’s locked in a vending machine room in Dallas, staring at enough explosives to vaporize him in half a second, it’s all that he can think about- not just that he’s failed her, already, but that she could be pregnant _right at this moment_ with his child, and unless someone arrives to cut him out of this room within the next few minutes, he will not be around to see it.

It’s only when faced with her loss, with her imminent departure for Utah, of all places, that he manages to make some halting, stumbling attempt at making his position a little more clear to her. When she tries to tell him that he doesn’t need her, that he never has, when she turns and leaves him standing broken in his apartment, that he realizes for the first time: she has no idea. What he feels for her, how he relies on her, what she means to him... she knows nothing about any of it. And how could she? He’s never really even tried to tell her.

He races out of his apartment with only one clear thought in his head: he has to tell her. Now. Before it’s too late.

But of course, he never gets that far. There are very few certainties in Mulder’s life, but among them is this: whether it’s ex-girlfriends, bombs, or bees, _some_ thing will always interrupt them whenever they come close to anything approaching real honesty about what they mean to one another.

\-------------------------

She runs over the sequence of events in her mind as she lies curled over him on the ice, repeating each step in the process over and over again, trying to stave off unconsciousness. It’s the same thing she does on stakeouts, on long drives, whenever she’s trying to stay awake- she repeats autopsy procedures, every muscle in the human body from head to toe, the proper way to disassemble and clean her firearm.

So now, lost in a vast expanse of snow and ice, at the edge of a crater whose bottom she cannot see, she recites the symptoms and stages of a healthy pregnancy, everything she can expect to experience, should it come to pass that the embryo transferred into her weeks ago has made itself at home.

Somewhere between “quickening” and “round ligament pain,” there’s a shimmer at the very edge of her vision, something she first dismisses as a hallucination, too good to be real... at least for someone whose luck seems to be as awful as hers.

But it’s not a hallucination; it’s a Sno-Cat, driven by coming to investigate the sudden seismic disturbance registered on the monitors at McMurdo Station. The last thing that Scully registers, as she finally succumbs to unconsciousness, is a pair of wide, shocked eyes, shielded behind the tinted plastic of their owner’s ski goggles.

She still feels frozen when she comes to, in spite of the warmth of the sterile, white room in which she’s lying- and in spite of the warmth of Mulder, lying on her cot next to her. He’s fast asleep, his arm locked stubbornly around her waist, the set of his face, even in unconsciousness, suggesting that someone in charge has already attempted- unsuccessfully- to remove him from her side.

She stirs, and in his sleep, Mulder tightens his hold on her. And even with the pervasive sense of cold still permeating her limbs, Scully begins to feel warmer.

\----------------------

She’s been telling herself, ever since waking up in the infirmary at McMurdo Station, that it’s not going to happen this time, that she can’t expect the IVF to be successful when her body has been through so much in such a short time. After the stress of losing their office and their work, the impact she’d been through when the bomb in Dallas had sent their car flying into the curb, the introduction of an unknown pathogen into her system, and her near-death by freezing in Antarctica, her body is hardly the most hospitable place just now for a developing child.

(The same could be said, really, of her entire life, but that’s not a thought on which she wishes to dwell, just now.)

But in spite of all her mental preparations, it still takes her by surprise, while she and Mulder are waiting for their flight out of Sydney, when her period starts.

Mulder reads her expression the moment she leaves the restroom, and his face falls. He opens his arms, and she doesn’t hesitate to walk into them.

“We’ll try again, Scully,” he promises, whispering in her ear as he rubs her shoulders consolingly. “We’re gonna get this right eventually.”

She wonders, as she leans against his chest and fights back tears, whether he’s only referring to the IVF.


	8. Recovering

Following their return from Antarctica, they’re both ordered to take a week’s medical leave. They’re meant to be resting and recovering from their trauma in their own homes, but predictably, Mulder has invaded Scully’s apartment within twenty-four hours, armed with more salvaged files, which he begs her to help him start re-organizing.

She’s sitting propped up in bed, glasses perched on the end of her nose, trying to bring some order to the chaos that has been dropped in front of her, while Mulder is sprawled by her feet like the world’s largest and most ungainly dog, combing through a file of his own. Lost in thought, he scans a list of names in front of him, victims of a long-dead serial killer, repeating their first names silently to himself. 

“Hey, Scully?” he asks suddenly, putting the papers down and sitting up.

“Mmm?” She doesn’t look up from her own file, and for a moment, he hesitates. It’s maybe not the most sensitive of questions, just now, but... well, he’s curious, and he’s never been much good at ignoring his curiosity.

“Have you thought of names yet?” Now she does raise her eyes to his.

“Names?”

“Yeah, names. In case... you know...” He swallows. “In case the next round works.”

“Oh,” she says, dropping her gaze back into her lap. “I... honestly, I haven’t let myself think that far ahead, Mulder.”

“Why not?” She shifts uncomfortably against the headboard, and Mulder begins to regret asking the question, especially now, less than a week after learning that the first round of IVF didn’t take.

“Did you ever read any Steinbeck in high school, Mulder?” He frowns, taken aback at the sudden turn in the conversation.

“Sure, a little,” he says. “What, you want to name the kid after a Steinbeck character? Doesn’t seem like a good omen, Scully. None of them ever got much of a happy ending.” Scully chuckles softly.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she says. “In one of Steinbeck’s books, _The Pearl_ , the main character is in the process of prying open an oyster that has a pearl so large that its value could mean that he and his family will be wealthy beyond anything they could imagine. His wife, however, looks away as he’s opening the shell, because she believes that wanting something too much drives the luck away.” She blushes slightly and examines her hands, clasped atop the file. “Coming up with a list of names seems kind of like that. Like tempting fate.”

“Dana Katherine Scully,” says Mulder, delighted, “are you telling me that you’re holding off on picking out names because you’re being _superstitious_?” Her blush deepens, and she looks up at him through her lashes, head still ducked, biting her lip.

“I guess it’s a little ridiculous, isn’t it?” she says, and with a sigh, she sets the file aside. “There are names I like, of course, names I’ve heard through the years and thought, in an abstract way, that I might use them one day.” Mulder puts aside his own file and wriggles further up on the bed. His head’s not quite on the other pillow, but it’s pretty close, and for a moment, he expects Scully to object, but she doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he urges her. “I want to know what names you like.”

“Well... for a boy, I like Caleb,” she says. “And Jonah, Samuel, and David.”

“Big on the biblical names, huh?”

“Not on purpose,” says Scully, defensively. “I just like them, that’s all.” She bites her lip again. “And sometimes I’ve thought... maybe William.”

Mulder’s breath catches. William? As in, his father’s name? His own middle name? But then he remembers.

“Like your father,” he says.

“Well... yes,” Scully says, a slight crease appearing above her eyebrows. For a moment, he thinks she might be holding something back, but then her face smooths out and she continues. “But I feel like Bill would probably assume I was naming the baby after _him_ , and his ego really doesn’t need the boost.” 

“No, you’re probably right about that,” Mulder agrees, laughing. “And how about for a girl?”

“I like Elizabeth,” she says. “And Charlotte, and Claire. I used to really like Emma, but now, I feel like it’s... well, it’s too close to....” Her voice trails off, but Mulder doesn’t need her to finish the sentence. He nods. ”But if it’s a girl,” Scully continues, “her middle name will definitely be Margaret. For my mother.”

“She’d like that, I’m sure,” says Mulder.

“And have you bothered to ask _her_ how she would feel about that?”

The sharp voice from the bedroom doorway makes both Mulder and Scully jump... and when he turns and sees Maggie Scully standing there, her arms crossed and her mouth set in a thin line, he scrambles off the bed so fast he sends files spilling onto the floor.

“Mom!” Scully looks horrified. “I had no idea you were coming by today!”

“I made some soup and I thought I’d bring it over,” Maggie says shortly. “I thought I would probably find Fox here, but I certainly never thought....” She looks pointedly at her daughter. “Dana, is there something that you and Fox would like to tell me?”

“Mom-”

“Are you pregnant?”

Scully’s face falls, her eyes filling with tears, and the only way Mulder keeps himself from rebuking Maggie for her callous question is by reminding himself that she doesn’t _know_ she’s being callous.

“No, Mom, I’m not,” she says, her voice trembling. Mulder wants badly to go to her and put his arms around her, but he senses that this would not be the wisest course of action at the moment. Instead, he begins gathering up the fallen files and stacking them on Scully’s nightstand. Scully hands the papers she’s still holding to him. “Mulder, would you mind letting my mother and I talk? We can get back to this tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Sure, Scully,” he says. He wants badly to kiss her cheek, the way he’s taken to doing whenever they part, this past week, but somehow, it doesn’t seem like a good idea just now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns to Maggie. “Mrs. Scully, good to see you.”

“You as well, Fox,” she says, but she doesn’t sound as though she means it.

Maybe it makes him a coward, but right at this moment, Mulder feels nothing but relief to be escaping this room. This is not a conversation that he wants to be a part of.

\-------------------------------

“So let me get all of this straight,” Maggie says. She’s sitting in the armchair across from Scully’s bed, her posture rigid, her arms still crossed over her chest. “First, you tell me last Christmas that you cannot have children. Then, days later, you tell me you already _have_ a child, but you don’t know how it happened. Now, you’re telling me that maybe you _can_ have children, because Fox... did you say he _stole_ your ova from someone?”

“I don’t think you can call it stealing if he was just taking back what was mine,” Scully says dully. “But yes, that’s the gist of it.”

“And why did you say nothing about these ova at Christmas, when you told me that you couldn’t conceive?” asks Maggie.

“Because I didn’t know about them then,” says Scully. “The specialist that Mulder had taken them to told had him that they weren’t viable, and he didn’t want to give me more bad news when I was already using all my energy to fight my cancer.”

“But he kept them anyway?” asks Maggie, frowning. “Even though they weren’t viable?”

“Yeah,” says Scully softly, smiling down into her lap. “He did. He paid to have them stored for over a year, until he was ready to tell me about them. He knew I would want a second opinion.” It never fails to touch her, the way Mulder had refused to give up on the hopes he has for her. “He was right- I did.” 

“Well, he certainly knows you well,” Maggie concedes. “And he’s agreed to... what, exactly? To father a child for you?”

“He’s agreed to be my donor,” Scully says. “We haven’t... we haven’t really worked anything out beyond that.”

“But he’ll be this baby’s father, Dana,” Maggie says. 

“I don’t really know if he wants that, Mom,” says Scully. “I don’t know how involved he wants to be- _if_ this works. And that’s a big ‘if.’“

“What if he doesn’t want to be involved? What will you do then?” demands Maggie. “How could you possibly do this without deciding all of these things first, Dana?”

“Because, Mom,” Scully sighs, “I want to do it, one way or another. If he wants his involvement to end with his donation, it’s not going to change my decision. Even if he had said no to donating in the first place, I would have found an anonymous donor and gone ahead with it anyway.”

“But that would mean being a single mother, Dana,” Maggie protests. “Unwed, with a child, and a demanding job. And that’s not even getting into what the Church says about beginning a pregnancy this way.”

“I think I’ve made my feelings on the subject of the Church’s right to dictate what a woman does with her own body perfectly clear in the past,” says Scully coldly.

“Yes, you certainly have,” says Maggie, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Have you thought about any other options? What about adopting?”

“Mom,” sighs Scully, exasperated, “there is absolutely no way any adoption agency is going to consider placing a child with me. I’m a single woman in a high-risk job, a year into remission from what should have been terminal cancer. If I want to be a mother, this is the only option left to me.” She looks at Maggie pleadingly. “Don’t you want this for me, Mom? Wouldn’t you love having a grandchild living this close to you?” Maggie’s face softens.

“Of course I would, Dana,” she says. “And I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t have decided to do this unless you were certain about it... and I have to say, if any of my children could handle being a single parent, it would be you.” She stands up from the armchair and crosses the room, sitting next to Scully on the bed. She puts her arm around Scully’s shoulder, and her daughter doesn’t hesitate to lean against her.

“I want this so badly, Mom,” says Scully, her voice cracking. “And this is the only way it can happen for me.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” says Maggie. She sighs. “And I have to believe, whatever the Church might say, that God would not have given you such a strong desire to be a mother if there wasn’t some way to make your wish a reality.” She strokes her daughter’s hair. “And if you do have a girl... I would be honored if her middle name was Margaret.”


	9. Irresponsible

_Maybe_ , she thinks to herself, as she leans her forehead against the airplane window, _he and I are just too irresponsible for this to work out._

She couldn’t manage to hold onto Gibson, even in the closed environment of the hospital, where she should have been perfectly able to keep him safe. And while involving themselves in the Crump incident had been Mulder’s idea, Scully hadn’t put up much more than a token resistance before she’d gone along with him on it.

And now here she is, on a last-second plane to Bermuda with Frohike, Langley, and Byers, after having more or less bullied classified information out of an Assistant Director of the FBI (not to mention laying one hell of a kiss on him in an elevator- a moment that was almost certainly captured for posterity on a security camera). Once again, she’s chasing down her partner, rushing off on an ill-advised rescue attempt, necessitated by an equally ill-advised impulse on Mulder’s part.

She has to admit that, were she to review their joint records over the past six years, the phrase “responsible prospective parents” is not the first one that would spring to mind.

\--------------------------------

His brain is hazy after his long, slow climb back to consciousness, foggy with pain medication and head trauma, and he’s just barely aware enough to recognize the look that Scully is giving him. It’s the same look she always wears on her face when he wakes up in a hospital bed after yet another bout of poor decision making, and by now, it’s as familiar to him as her smile. More familiar, probably: he doesn’t make her smile nearly as often as he makes her worry.

He wonders distractedly, as she tries to keep him calm, to convince him to lie back and rest, if she understands. If she _knows_. If she has any clue at all what she means to him, what she’s always meant to him. His thoughts are disjointed and mostly incoherent- there’s clearly one hell of a cocktail in that IV bag dangling above his bed- but he has a vague impression that there’s something, something unresolved, something important going on between them, some reason why it’s so important that she knows how he feels _right now_ , even though he’s kept it secret for a long time.

It’s something time-sensitive. He knows that much. It can’t wait.

Scully starts to leave his bedside, but he calls her back, and of course, she comes. 

“I love you,” he tells her, his face as serious and as sober as he can manage, and the moment the words are out, he feels an enormous weight lifted off of his chest. _There_ , he thinks to himself. _Now she knows._

He waits for her to blush, to smile, to return the sentiment... but “Oh, brother,” is all she says.

And then she’s gone.

\-----------------------------

In the hallway outside of Mulder’s hospital room, Scully leans up against the wall, covering her eyes with a shaking hand. Skinner and the Gunmen have, thankfully, already gone down to the hospital lobby to wait for her, and are not here to witness her mini-breakdown following Mulder’s unexpected confession.

 _He’s drugged_ , she reminds herself firmly. _He has no idea what he’s saying. The best thing you can do for both of you is to go downstairs, go back to the hotel, let him sleep and sober up, and not speak of this again unless he brings it up first._

And yet, her feet are carrying her back into his hospital room.

“What do you mean by that, Mulder?” she asks him, approaching his bedside. He looks up at her, his hand cradling the side of his face, where his cheek is bruised.

“What do I mean by what?” he replies, his voice slightly slurry. She ignores the voice in her head that tells her he’s in no fit state to discuss this now.

“What you just said, Mulder. What do you mean by telling me that you love me?”

“I just... I needed you to know,” he says, shrugging, a little sheepish. “I had to make sure you knew that, now, before... before we....” He trails off, frowning to himself.

“Before what?” she says. “Why is it so important for you to tell me this right now?”

“Just in case, Scully,” he says, sagging back against the pillows, blinking sleepily. The drugs are about to knock him out.

“In case what, Mulder? In case the next time you go running off alone like this, you don’t make it back?”

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, as though the concept of his own mortality is barely worth mentioning. “In case it works next time, Scully.” Her breath catches in her throat. “Need you to know... so if it works....” His eyes drift closed. “So you’ll let me....” She waits, but his breathing has become slow and even. He’s passed out again.

“So I’ll let you what?” she tries, one last time, but he doesn’t stir. Scully stamps down the urge to shake him back awake, to demand that he complete his sentence. He needs to rest if he’s going to get well in time to fly home tomorrow, and repeatedly waking him up to re-engage him in a conversation that he’s much too stoned to be having is not going to help him or her.

\----------------------------

When she asks him, over a shared lunch during an escape from the bullpen, if he remembers what they had discussed in the hospital, he looks at her blankly.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, Scully,” he chuckles. “We’ve had a hell of a lot of conversations in hospitals over the past six years.” Scully sighs and returns her attention to her sandwich.

“Never mind,” she says. “It’s not important.”


	10. Possibility

The second time around, Scully knows more about what's in store, and so the side effects from the hormone shots don’t take her by surprise nearly as much. Her emotional reactions are, once again, drastically out of proportion, to be sure, but she’s expecting them to be, and somehow that makes it easier to handle.

Also making it easier on Scully is the fact that if Mulder and Diana Fowley are spending time together, they're not doing it anywhere that Scully can see it happening. Which, since Mulder is suddenly determined to spend nearly all day every day in Scully's presence, and calls her every evening that he's not haunting her apartment (or keeping her at his with a very flimsy excuse of some file or other that he wants her opinion on), would have to be happening between the hours of two and five in the morning.

Mulder takes Scully out to lunch nearly every day of the week, ignoring her protests that she's brought food to eat from home. Yogurt and bee pollen, he insists, do not constitute a fitting lunch for a potentially expectant mother. This time around, he seems to have decided to take personal charge of Scully's nutrition and hydration. He's forever brandishing granola bars and bottles of Gatorade in her face, and Scully might take offense at the implication that she can't take care of herself... except that, somehow, Mulder's sudden, constant attention to her needs is just so damn endearing.

"Do you have enough space?" he asks her in a double bed in Kroner, Kansas, after a freak tornado and a flying cow have rendered his own room uninhabitable. "I can sleep on the floor, if you need me to. Or out in the car, even." He's actually in the process of throwing back the blankets and climbing back out of bed, and Scully reaches out, seizing him by the wrist.

"Mulder, stay put," she orders him sharply. "There's plenty of room." He hesitates briefly before sinking back onto his side of the bed with a deep sigh. She releases his wrist, but before she can withdraw her hand, Mulder captures it in his own, winding his fingers between hers. She glances over at him quizzically. "You okay, Mulder?" she asks. They've been forced by circumstances to share a bed while in the field on more than one occasion before, and he's never been this jumpy.

"Yeah, fine," he says, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "I just... I keep thinking." She stays silent, waiting, and after a moment, Mulder rolls to face her. "It just keeps hitting me that for all we know, you could be pregnant right at this moment." It's too dark for her to read his expression, but she _thinks_ he's smiling softly. "I know you're trying not to think about it until you're sure, Scully, but that’s proving just about impossible for me."

"Really, Mulder? I couldn't tell," Scully says dryly. "Between your obsessive tracking of every bite of food that passes my lips and your constant questioning of whether or not I need to rest, I had no clue."

"Sorry," says Mulder, ducking his head sheepishly. "I just... I really want this for you, Scully."

Her mind snags on his words like cloth on a stray nail. He wants it for _her_. Not for them. For a moment, she thinks that maybe this is the perfect opening for the conversation she knows they'll have to have, if it turns out that she's pregnant... but she's hesitant to broach the topic before she knows for certain.

If it turns out that Mulder wants to be involved, even if it's only partial involvement, she thinks they'll be okay. But if he's decided, as she fears, that he wants his donation to be the sum total of his part in this, Scully doesn't quite trust herself to be able to hide her disappointment. Mulder will be able to tell, and with his overdeveloped sense of guilt, he will feel that he's failed her for not being willing to provide something that she has absolutely no right to ask of him. And to be honest, Scully's not sure their partnership could survive. 

Better to wait, she reminds herself, until either she knows for sure, or until she's certain she'll be able to accept any answer with a smile that's at least genuine enough to fool Mulder. So instead of speaking, she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. He pulls their joined to his mouth and presses his lips to her knuckles tenderly, and instead of letting it go, he holds it close to his heart as his eyes close.

They fall asleep with their fingers intertwined on the mattress between them.

\--------------------------------

Mulder had planned to give Scully her Christmas gift sometime between Christmas and New Year's- in fact, he had planned to take her out for a nice dinner (nice enough that she could interpret it as a date, if she wanted)- but after dragging her out to a haunted house on Christmas Eve, he feels like he owes her.

Not that he doesn't _always_ owe her, really.

So when she shows up at his apartment door, even though she's only got about four hours to sleep, at this point, before she's due at her mother's house, he decides to go ahead and give her the gift now. And, as it turns out, she's gotten him something, as well, so it all works out in the end.

Mulder goes first, tearing the paper off of a hardcover book- _Contact_ , by Carl Sagan. He grins widely.

"I don't need to ask why this made you think of me, Scully," he chuckles. He's got a copy already, of course, but this is much nicer than his beat-up paperback. "Have you read this?"

"No," says Scully. "But I saw the movie with my mom." She blushes. "It made me think of you." Mulder grins, returning his attention to the book. He flips it over, examining the illustration on the dust jacket, which is immaculate, without a single crease or tear. 

"Hey, is this a first edition?"

"Yes, it is," says Scully. "And, uh... also...." She reaches over and opens the cover to the title page, where several lines have been scrawled in thick, black marker: 

_Keep believing._  
_-Carl Sagan_

Mulder looks up at Scully, eyes wide.

"I found it at my mother's church, of all places," Scully says. "They had a rummage sale in November, and this was sitting in a box of beat-up books from someone's basement. And I know we said we weren't exchanging gifts this year, but it just seemed too perfect to pass up."

"It _is_ perfect, Scully," he says, putting an arm around her shoulder and squeezing her. "Thank you." He puts the book on the coffee table and nods at the package she's still holding. "I didn't find that at a rummage sale, but I had the same thought as you when I saw it. It was too perfect to pass up." Scully begins peeling off the wrapping paper. She sits there, silent, staring down at the object in her hands, her face unreadable. "And technically," continues Mulder, "I kept my word not to get you anything, because it's not really for you." Still, Scully says nothing, and Mulder begins to get nervous. "Scully?"

"Mulder," she says, her voice amused and hoarse with emotion, all at the same time. She holds up her gift and turns to him, eyes wide. "Where did you find _this_?"

"On the internet," he says. The handle of the rattle is made from sturdy plastic, while the top is coated in a softer layer, ideal for a baby to gnaw on without hurting himself. It's in the shape of an alien- not the classic, creepy, oval-eyed version, but a friendly, smiling alien, sprouting trumpet-shaped antennae from its head. "I know you're nervous about tempting fate, Scully, but I just feel like _one_ of us should be open to extreme possibilities here. And I think it's safe to say, from past experience, that that someone is gonna be me." Still, silence. "Scully?" Nothing. "Scully, if I've done wrong, I'm sorry, I just-"

It's as far as he gets before she turns and kisses him.

It's quick and sweet, and before he even has a chance to respond, she's already drawn back and is staring at him with wide eyes. He thinks she's surprised herself almost as much as she's surprised him.

This time, it's unclear who makes the first move. All Mulder knows is that suddenly, he's lost in the sweet taste of Scully's mouth. She's got one hand buried in his hair and the other is creeping up the back of his t-shirt. She feels so small in his arms, so perfect, like she was made to fit there, and he's just beginning to lay her back on his couch when she jerks away.

"I should go," she says, hastily gathering up her things, not looking at him. Mulder's heart sinks.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he says. "You don't have to leave."

"I know," she says. "I just... it's late, it's been a long night, and tomorrow's going to be crazy at Mom's, and I..." She sighs and meets his gaze, finally, and Mulder can tell she's conflicted. "I don't want to tempt myself right now, because I can't. Not tonight." She swallows. "Not while...." Mulder nods, understanding: she's not supposed to have sex for five weeks following the embryo transfer, and she's currently on week two.

"It doesn't have to go that far, Scully," he says. "Not tonight." Scully smiles slightly.

"Do you really think we'd be able to stop ourselves?" she asks him, and he knows she's right. If she had allowed him to kiss her for much longer, no force on earth would have been strong enough to separate him from her.

"I guess you have a point," he concedes. She stands, and he walks her to the door.

"I'll see you back at work after New Year's, okay?" she tells him, and his heart sinks.

"I thought maybe we could go to dinner, the night after Christmas?" he suggests hopefully, but she shakes her head.

"I need some time, Mulder," she tells him. "Time to think." She reaches up and gently touches her fingertips to his lips, and he presses a kiss to her hand. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"Merry Christmas, Scully."


	11. Devastation

**(A/N: This chapter contains potentially triggering content.)**

Scully is nauseous.

She’s had two spells of it so far this morning, and even though she hadn’t ended up actually vomiting either time, it had still been enough to send her running from the bullpen to the restroom, just in case.

The first time, Mulder hadn’t looked up from his computer... but when she returns to her desk the second time, he watches her, concerned. The moment she’s seated, he crosses to her desk and leans over, ostensibly to discuss something written on the legal pad in his hands.

“I don’t suppose you ate something spoiled for breakfast, did you?” he murmurs in a low voice only she can hear. She shakes her head.

“Not unless my granola bar was expired, no,” she replies. Mulder says nothing for a moment, and when Scully glances at him, he’s chewing his lip thoughtfully. In front of them, a fellow agent turns from his computer to glance suspiciously at the two of them before turning back around. Mulder takes a pen from Scully’s desk and writes on the legal pad: _Could it be because...?_

It’s a little early, to be sure, but it’s possible that this sudden nausea is a symptom of more than just a bout of the flu. Scully meets Mulder’s gaze and nods once, shortly. Mulder’s eyes widen, and he gives Scully a shaky, uncertain smile. Scully takes the pen from his hand and writes: _Go sit back down. People are staring at us._

He obeys, but keeps sneaking covert glances at her for the next fifteen minutes, until she’s suddenly and unexpectedly summoned to Kersh’s office. Alone.

\--------------------------

Mulder had thought that being exiled to the bullpen had been bad enough. But being stuck here alone, while Scully is off in New York? It’s pure torture.

It’s been three days since Scully had hopped onto the commuter shuttle north alongside one very eager and very inexperienced Peyton Ritter. She’d called him early this morning, and she had told him that Alfred Fellig would most likely be arrested within the hour, but it’s lunchtime now, and he still hasn’t heard from her. He’s held off calling her to check in, but he’s getting nervous, and finally, as he leaves his desk to go and grab something to eat, he caves and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.

Scully’s cell rings six times before it goes to voicemail. Mulder supposes it’s possible she’s elbow-deep in the administrative portion of Fellig’s arrest, and that’s why she’s not answering, but still, he’s starting to worry. He’s about to call again- Scully will be annoyed with him, but she’ll likely assume it’s an emergency and will try to answer- when a tap on his shoulder makes him jump. Diana’s standing in the hallway, her purse slung over her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Fox,” she says. “I was just on my way to lunch and wondered if you’d like to join me.” She glances over his shoulder, at the rows of desks behind him. “I thought that with Agent Scully in New York, you might like some company.” Mulder shrugs. Why not? It might take his mind off of worrying about Scully.

They eat at a deli close to the Hoover building, and as much as Diana tries to engage Mulder in conversation, he can’t stop checking his phone every few minutes. 

“How are things going for her, anyway?” asks Diana, rolling her eyes as Mulder pulls his phone out of his pocket yet again. “I mean, obviously she hasn’t had success with the IVF treatments yet, but is she still trying?”

“Yes,” says Mulder. “ _We’re_ still trying.” Diana’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“How many times are _you_ planning on trying?” she asks. “Her health insurance will only pay for so many attempts, you know.” Mulder sighs. He’s regretted telling Diana about this since the moment he’d unthinkingly allowed the words to slip out.

“It’s between Scully and me, Diana,” he says. “And I don’t think she’d want me discussing it with anyone else. It’s private.” Diana opens her mouth to reply, but she’s interrupted by the ringing of Mulder’s cell phone.

Moments later, she’s left sitting alone in the deli as Mulder runs off at top speed to catch the first available cab to the airport.

\----------------------------

The pain is the first thing she’s conscious of, before she even manages to open her eyes. The second thing she’s aware of is a gentle pressure on her hand, and the third thing is Mulder’s voice, excited, exclaiming, “Go get her mother!”

Scully opens her eyes to Mulder’s face, anxious but hopeful, and when her eyes meet his, he instantly tears up.

“Hey,” he says gently, his voice choked with emotion. “You gave us one hell of a scare, Scully.” She tries to smile at him as reassuringly as she can, but she barely feels like she has control over her facial muscles. Mulder reaches out and smooths her hair back from her forehead. He’s about to speak again when Maggie Scully bursts into the room behind him, and by the time she’s finished fussing over her daughter, Scully is already exhausted, and can’t stop herself from drifting off again.

Mulder is still by her side when she next wakes, and this time, she feels strong enough to speak.

“What happened to Fellig?” she asks. 

“Dead,” says Mulder.

“And Ritter?” Mulder’s face instantly darkens.

“Ritter’s damn lucky he’s not dead, too,” he says. “If I had been there when it happened....” His face twists in anger.

“If you had been there, it never would have happened in the first place,” Scully says, squeezing Mulder’s hand. She nods towards the foot of the bed. “Can I see my chart?” Mulder bites his lip.

“Why don’t you worry about that later, Scully?” he suggests. “Your doctor will be here later and you can talk to him then.”

“Mulder,” she says, as sternly as she can manage on limited breath. With a sigh, Mulder acquiesces. 

A quick scan of the information on her chart tells Scully everything she needs to know... and confirms everything she’d begun to suspect. An immense wave of sorrow rears up and threatens to drown her, and immediately, she distances herself, stamping down all emotion as fiercely as possible.

“I’ll need to speak with the doctor the next time he comes in,” she tells Mulder, as detached and as businesslike as possible. “I want to schedule a D&C-”

“Scully-” Mulder tries to interrupt, but she speaks over him. If she lets him in right now, if she lets herself feel, she’ll drown, she knows she will.

“And I want to send the tissue that’s removed for analysis. We need to determine whether-”

“Scully, please, can you just-”

“-whether spontaneous abortion was triggered by the trauma, or whether it was a result of a chromosomal abnormality.”

“ _Scully_.”

“Because if it’s an abnormality, we need to tell Dr. Parenti, so that he can... so he... so he can....” Scully’s voice trails off as her throat suddenly tightens. The chart falls from her hands and clatters to the floor as Mulder puts his arms around her and holds her close. 

“We’ll worry about all of that later,” Mulder says soothingly, into her ear. “For now, you need to rest.” She nods into his shoulder and takes as deep a breath as she’s able, given the searing pain in her gut. She reaches for the button by her side that will administer a dose of painkiller and presses it firmly. Almost immediately, her limbs begin to feel heavy.

“It worked,” she says dully, as Mulder strokes her hair.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice hitching. “It did.” He helps her settle back onto her bed, and pulls her blankets up around her. “And if it worked once, Scully, it can work again. Just remember that, okay?”

“Yeah,” Scully mumbles, as the medication pulls her under. “Okay.”

\-------------------------------------

By the time the test results come back, Scully is recovering at home, with her mother and Mulder taking it in turn to stay with her in her apartment. Mulder brings the manila envelope up from her mailbox, hands it to her, and sits by her side while she examines information that is, to him, largely incomprehensible. Something in the sheaf of papers catches Scully’s attention, however, and she gasps sharply.

“What is it?” Mulder asks, his heart in his throat. 

“This... this can’t be right,” she says, flipping through the test results again. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Analysis of the tissue revealed substantial abnormalities... but not like anything I’ve ever seen before.” She shakes her head, completely perplexed. “These chromosomes contain structural abnormalities that I’ve never seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone had altered the embryo prior to implantation.” 

Mulder’s blood suddenly runs cold.

“We need to go see Dr. Parenti,” he says in a low voice. At his tone, Scully looks up, worried.

“To give him the test results?” she asks. Mulder shakes his head.

“I don’t think anything in those papers is going to come as a surprise to him,” he says, “but I think that _he_ has some information that might surprise _us_.”


	12. Confrontation

Mulder blows straight past Dr. Parenti’s receptionist, with Scully doing her best to ignore the sharp pains in her gut and keep up. In his fury, he’s forgotten her still-healing injury, and from the look he’d had on his face when he’d gotten out of the car, he’s not likely to remember it anytime soon.

She’s never seen him this furious.

Inside Parenti’s office, Mulder doesn’t pause before grabbing the doctor, lifting him bodily from his desk chair, and slamming him against the wall. He brandishes the test results in the terrified man’s face.

“Who do you work for?” Mulder demands. “Whose orders were you following when you did this to my partner? To our child?”

“I’m not working for anyone!” Parenti gasps desperately. “This is my practice! _I_ own it!”

“Then who paid you?” snarls Scully, stepping up to Mulder’s elbow. “How much money was your Hippocratic oath worth to you?”

“They never paid me anything, I swear!” Sweat rolls down Parentt’s face as he twists in Mulder’s grasp. “You have to understand, they threatened my family! They told me they’d kill my wife and kid if I didn’t do what they told me to!” Mulder releases Parenti abruptly, and he slides down the wall and crumples on the floor.

“What did they make you do?” Scully asks, stepping closer and looming over him. 

“They... they sent someone to take the embryos after insemination, and then they brought them back the morning of the transfer.” He massages his neck where Mulder had grabbed him. “A different man, both times. I don’t know how they altered the embryos. Whatever they did to them, they didn’t do it here.” He looks up at Scully pleadingly. “They swore that nothing they did would hurt you, or the embryo. In fact, they said it might even help your chances of conception.” Parenti struggles slowly to his feet. “Please, you have to believe me, I never would have agreed to it if they hadn’t promised that it wouldn’t hurt you. I would have taken my family and gone to the police instead.” Mulder glares down at Parenti, his lip curling in disgust.

“I’d advise you to go ahead and do that now,” he says coldly. “I know these people. They don’t take failure lightly.” He turns and storms out of the office, and Scully, with one last contemptuous look at Parenti, starts to follow- until something occurs to her, and she turns back.

“My ova,” she says. “Whatever you have left. I want them back immediately.”

\---------------------

Out in the car, they sit silently across from each other. Scully is looking down at the little red and white medical cooler in her lap with an unreadable expression, and Mulder wishes he had some clue about what she’s thinking.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and she nods, slowly, not looking at him.

“I’m just... wondering where we go from here,” she murmurs.

“Well... first, I think we should take your ova back to the cold storage facility where I kept them before,” he suggests. “And then... the rest is up to you, Scully. If you want to keep trying, then so do I.”

“I want to, Mulder,” she says, still not looking at him. He can tell by the way that she’s biting at her lip that she’s trying to hold back tears. “I just don’t know how to go about it.” Now she raises her eyes to his, and he can see that she’s terrified. “How did they find out?” she asks. “ I chose Parenti from a list in a medical journal. How could they have know who we’d go to for treatment? The only people who knew what we’re doing, besides Parenti and his staff, are the two of us and my mother.”

Mulder is actually on the verge of opening his mouth to add “And Diana,” but he stops himself just in time. Scully still doesn’t know about his thoughtless slip-up in June, and given her initial reaction to Diana, he can pretty much guess how Scully would feel about it. And besides, there’s no possible way Parenti could have found out from Diana. She’d been badly wounded by his admission, and unless her personality has changed drastically since their days together, she’s not the sort to vent about her hurts or humiliations to an outside source. She had always been more likely to bottle the hurt up inside, until finally, it would explode outward in the face of whoever had hurt her.

Anyway, who could Diana have told that could have made something like this happen?

“The insurance,” says Scully suddenly, and Mulder looks over at her. “Parenti’s office would have filed insurance claims. If the wrong person at the bureau saw them, and passed on the information....” Mulder nods slowly.

“You’re probably right,” he says. “If we’re going to continue, we’ll have to be more careful.”

“I don’t see how,” Scully sighs, leaning her head back against the headrest. “If the insurance claims are really how they found out, that means I’d have to pay for the next attempt out of my own pocket. I think I might have enough in savings for one more try, but that’s it.”

“Scully,” says Mulder quietly, “I have money.” She smiles sadly at him.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out and taking his hand. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you would even offer, but I can’t ask that of you, not when I’m already asking so much.”

He lets it go, for now. But if this next attempt doesn’t work... well, he’s not taking no for an answer. He’d meant it when he had told her that he is willing to try as many times as she is, and he’s not above writing checks to whatever doctor they try next and forcing him to cash them before Scully finds out, if that’s what it takes to get her to accept his help.

“Whoever we pick next,” Mulder says, “we can’t use our real names. It would be far too easy for someone to access the records of every fertility clinic in D.C. and find us again. So... as much as I’m sure you don’t want anyone else to know about this, we’re going to need a little help.” It takes her only seconds to figure out what he means.

“You want to tell the Gunmen?” she asks, aghast. “You want to share all of this with _Frohike_? The king of inappropriate innuendo?”

“I think he’ll surprise you, Scully,” Mulder says. “He’ll have nothing but compassion for the entire situation, I promise you that. And if we’re using fake names, we’re going to need documents to back them up.”

“Fine,” Scully sighs. “We’ll go to the cold storage facility first, and then to the Gunmen’s.” Mulder nods and puts the car in gear.

Tonight, he decides, he’ll go back and visit the Gunmen again, alone. He’ll have them set up another bank account under whatever aliases that he and Scully choose, and he’ll have Frohike transfer all of the money Mulder’s father had left him into it.

Just in case.


	13. Generous

To Mulder’s intense relief, the Gunmen are exactly as sympathetic and supportive as he had promised. They’re happy for Scully, thrilled she might not be denied a shot at motherhood after all, and awed by Mulder’s decision to try and help her conceive.

“Way cool, man,” is all that Frohike has to say, and the other two nod enthusiastically.

They set up the bank account immediately, under the names Joshua and Alicia Lowell, since Mulder is relatively convinced that his George Hale alias has probably been overused to the point of longer being an option. The fake identifications will take longer, but since Scully needs to finish recovering before they can take their next shot, the wait is not an issue.

Langley volunteers some additional, unexpected information: his younger sister, who also lives in DC, had undergone fertility treatments two years ago. She’s now the mother to a set of healthy twin girls. Langley retreats to another room to call her, and returns with the contact information for a Dr. Nyana Sabarwal, for whom his sister nothing but praise.

And so, weeks later, they’re back on the roller coaster, only this time everything seems a thousand times more intense, because it’s their last shot at this. Or, at least, Scully believes that it is, because Mulder is very determinedly not mentioning his plans to pay for all future attempts, should this one not pan out. He’d gone alone to pick their fake identification up from the Gunmen, and while there, he had given them instructions to transfer a significant chunk of his father’s money into the new account. He sees no need to begin the conversation with Scully unless it becomes necessary though; he doesn’t want her dwelling on the idea of this round not working.

With Scully still recovering from her gunshot wound, they aren’t sent back into the field even after she returns to work. The dull routine of background checks is helpful when she’s still in pain, but once she’s better, once the embryo transfer is complete and the waiting game has begun, the lack of distraction quickly becomes a problem. Scully is jumpy and irritable with the other agents in the bullpen, who thankfully put it down to physical discomfort from having been forced to come back to work before she had fully healed.

At noon on the day before Scully’s appointment to take a pregnancy test, Diana Fowley stops by the bullpen.

“Agent Scully,” she says, an enormous, sappy (and clearly fake) smile on her face as she looks down at Scully, who watches her distrustfully. “It’s so good to see you back! How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” says Scully stiffly. Diana exchanges the fake smile for a genuinely warm one as she turns to Mulder.

“Fox,” she says, “I just stopped by to see if you’d like to join me for lunch.” Behind Diana, Mulder catches sight of Scully hunching her shoulders slightly. 

“Actually, Scully and I were about to go out to eat in a few minutes,” he replies. Diana waits, probably for Mulder to invite her to go along, which would probably be the polite thing to do. But right now Mulder is in the business of keeping Scully’s stress levels as low as possible, and while he’s not entirely sure why, Diana Fowley clearly pushes his partner’s buttons. Forcing Scully to sit across from her while she’s trying to eat- something he’s had to cajole her into doing, thanks how nervous she’s been- seems like cruel and unusual punishment.

“Well... maybe later this week,” then,” says Diana uncertainly, clearly confused by the lack of invitation from Mulder. He doesn’t miss the brief glower that flashes across her face as she watches him helping Scully with her coat, but he can’t dwell on it now. He’ll apologize later, but for now, he’s more concerned with getting Scully out of here before Diana asks some awkward question about how the IVF is going, just to get back at him for excluding her.

 _Wait a second_ , he thinks to himself as he walks out of the bullpen, hand at the small of Scully’s back. _Diana wouldn’t do that, would she?_

He realizes that he’s not sure, not anymore. Six years is a long time to be completely out of touch with someone. And as is evidenced by Mulder’s excitement over the idea of having a child with Scully, a person can change a great deal in six years.

\------------------------------------

Mulder had been planning on leaving early to accompany Scully to find out whether or not the last round of IVF had taken, but less than five minutes before they’re due to leave, Kersh strides into the bullpen to place an assignment on Mulder’s desk, to be completed by the end of the day.

“I can just blow it off,” he hisses to Scully, once Kersh has left, but she shakes her head adamantly.

“He’s already pissed at you for running off to New York without permission when I got shot,” Scully whispers back as she gathers up her things. “We can’t afford for you to be any further from his good graces now, when there could be all sorts of awkward questions flying around in a few months.” He gives her a tight grin.

“Let’s hope so,” he says. “I’ll head to your place as soon as I’m done here, okay?” Scully nods, doing her best to make it seem as though she’s not nervous, trying to hide how badly she wants to change her mind and tell Mulder to forget about the assignment and come with her, because she doesn’t think she can take sitting in that office without him by her side if it’s bad news again.

And, of course, it is. She tells herself, the entire drive home, in the elevator up to her apartment, and while Mulder tries his best to comfort her, that it was foolish to hope for this, that it’s for the best, really, that her life is ill suited for motherhood, that at least now she won’t have to worry about this destroying her partnership with Mulder.

Mulder, however, is nowhere near as ready to let this go as Scully is pretending to be.

"Never give up on a miracle," he says gently, holding her to his chest. She tries to kiss him, but with the tears obscuring her vision, she misses, and her lips hit the corner of his mouth, instead.

"Mulder," she says, leaning against him, "it's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment... but this is it. I can't afford another attempt." He draws back and leans his forehead against hers.

"Let me pay for it this time, Scully," he says. “I have the money. In fact, I have enough money to try as many times as you want.” Her eyes widen.

"I can't ask you to do that," she says.

"You're not asking me to do it," he says. "I'm asking you to let me. It’s my father’s money, Scully, the money I inherited when he died. And considering its possible origins... I don’t feel right spending it, not unless I’m using it to somehow undo the damage caused by the people who helped him earn it.” Understanding dawns on Scully’s face.

“Would that include private planes to Antarctica and Sno-Cat rentals?” she asks. 

“Absolutely,” he says. “Please. I really want this, Scully."

"I know you wanted to do this for me, but Mulder, you're not under any obligation to-"

"You're not hearing me, Scully," he says. "I know I’m not obligated. I want to do this. I want it to work so badly and I’m not willing to give up yet.” He cups her face in his hands. “Just one more, Scully. Please? If you decide it’s too much after that, if you don’t feel like you can go through it again, then fine, we’ll stop... but Scully, please don’t let money be the reason you let go of this dream.”

He is her partner in this, as he is in everything else, Scully thinks to herself. He’s completely sincere in his willingness to do this, she can tell... and with a sigh, she decides, for once, to allow herself to accept his help.

“All right, Mulder,” she says. “One more time.”

She thinks that the smile that lights up his face will stay with her for the rest of her life.


	14. Confirmation

Autopsying and identifying every single body recovered from the hangar at El Rico Air Force Base takes three full days and an entire team of pathologists. By the end of it, Scully’s feet are covered in blisters in spite of her comfortable shoes, and she’s relatively certain that the cramps in her neck, back, and shoulders are going to be with her for at least a week.

(She's also had to leave the table to vomit in the bathroom three times today alone. She could put it down to the horror of having to autopsy the bodies of small children who had been burned alive, but , she’s never gotten sick over an autopsy before, and anyway, she’d been nauseous before she’d even picked up her scalpel on the first day.)

Two weeks ago, Scully would have whispered her suspicions in Mulder’s ear, savoring his excitement over the idea that this time, it might work… but right now, even though he’s been buzzing around the morgue constantly, getting underfoot, it feels like there’s miles of empty space in between them. Scully assumes that all of Mulder’s attention is focused on waiting to find out whether or not any of the remains will be identified as having belonged to Diana Fowley (they won’t, of course), and it’s unlikely he has any space in his head for her just now.

When the last victim has finally been identified, Scully peels back her gloves, tosses them into the biohazard bin, and approaches Mulder, who is leaning against the wall near the door, having given up his restless pacing at last.

“She’s not here, Mulder,” she sighs. “None of these bodies were hers. You’re sure she went to the hangar when she left you?”

“Completely,” he says. Scully nods and looks down.

“Well, then… either this all happened before she arrived, or… she found some way to escape it.” She pauses. “The smoking man isn’t here, either.” Mulder scowls.

“Doesn’t mean anything, Scully,” he says stubbornly. “So if you’re gonna start in on that crap again, you can just-” Scully holds up her hands, forestalling him.

“Mulder, I don’t want to fight with you,” she says. “I just want to go home, wash this stink off of me, and sleep.” She rubs at her neck as Mulder continues to glower at her. Another surge of nausea begins churning in her gut, and she knows she needs to get away from him before he realizes anything is wrong. “We’ve got an early meeting with Spender, Skinner, and Kersh tomorrow morning. I suggest you go home and try to sleep, too.” She turns and walks quickly away before he can say anything else, and makes it to the toilet in the changing room just in time.

Scully doesn’t go and find Mulder before she leaves the morgue; she doesn’t have the stamina to get drawn into another argument just now, not when the hurt of his accusation and his dismissal of her at the Gunmen’s is still so fresh. She buys a pregnancy test at the pharmacy near her apartment and uses it as soon as she gets home.

It’s positive.

Scully picks up the phone, about to call Mulder... when suddenly, his voice sounds in her head again, telling her that she’s wrong, telling her she’s making all of it personal.

Very slowly, she puts the phone back down.

———————————

They’re busy reclaiming their office when Mulder’s cell phone rings, and much to his surprise, it’s Frohike. He and the Gunmen hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms after the scene in their offices over a week ago, when, according to Frohike, he’d behaved like “a self-righteous, self-centered, stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Mulder, we need you to get over here,” Frohike says, his voice grim. “Bring Scully with you.”

“What’s going on, Melvin?” Mulder asks.

“We’ve done some more digging, and we found something that we think you should see. Both of you.”

A half hour later, the five of them are standing in a semicircle around one of the Gunmen’s computers. On the screen is what appears to be a hospital hallway.

“What is this?” asks Mulder, frowning.

“This is from a security camera at Holy Cross Memorial Hospital,” says Byers. “Where Agent Fowley was taken after she was shot last summer.” Mulder scowls.

“Come on, guys, not this again,” he grouses, but Byers talks over him.

“This footage is from the hallway outside of her room in the ICU,” he says. “The day that she was admitted.” He leans over and sets the footage rolling with a click of the mouse, and Mulder heaves a sigh and turns his attention to the screen.

For about a minute, there’s nothing but the normal bustle of a hospital corridor, nurses rushing this way and that, doctors carrying charts, and the occasional visitor. But then, at the top of the screen, two figures come into view, walking towards the camera, their faces completely visible for ten full seconds before they turn left and enter Diana’s room. The one on the right, whose face is completely unfamiliar to Mulder, is built like a linebacker.

The one on the left is unmistakably C.G.B. Spender.

Byers reaches down and clicks the mouse again, fast-forwarding the recording.

“They stay in there for maybe five minutes,” he says as he returns the recording to normal speed. “And when they leave, Spender is on his cell phone, and the tall one is clearly slipping something into his pocket.” He pauses the tape and, with several more clicks of the mouse, he zooms in on the man’s right hand, which is tucking a cylindrical object out of sight.

“That’s a syringe,” says Scully. “They gave her something while they were in there.” Byers nods.

“We think,” says Frohike, watching Mulder carefully, “that they slipped her something to speed up her recovery, and that’s why she got better so quickly.” Byers shuts off the computer monitor and stands, turning to face Mulder.

Everyone in the room is waiting for him to speak... but the realization that he’s just come to is even worse than the truth that Scully had been trying so hard to convince him of.

“It was her,” he says, almost to himself. “She told them.” He looks up at Scully, barely able to meet her eyes as the guilt crashes through him. She merely looks perplexed for a moment... but then, understanding breaks, her face going from confused to horrified to downright furious in seconds.

“You told _her_?” Scully’s anger fairly explodes outward at him, and it’s all he can do to keep from cowering under the intensity of it.

“It slipped out,” he says, fully aware of how pathetic of an excuse it is. “I didn’t mean to. I knew it was a mistake the second I said it.” Scully opens her mouth to speak, but her rage seems to be beyond words. She turns sharply on her heel and races for the door. Mulder has just enough time to see the identical looks of disgust on all three of the Gunmen’s faces before he turns and races after her.

“Scully, wait!” he calls, as he runs out of the door and sees her striding down the sidewalk towards her car. He doesn’t think she’ll listen, but quite suddenly, she turns and charges at him.

“How _could_ you, Mulder?” she shouts. “I didn’t even tell my own mother what we were doing, and you, you go and tell some woman I don’t even _know_?” She’s so livid that she actually reaches out and shoves at his shoulder. “And then you treat me like I’m nothing more than a petulant, jealous girlfriend when I have the audacity to question her loyalties? And I was right, Mulder! She was with them all along, and you refused to see it!”

“I know you were right, Scully,” he says. “I know that now. But you have to understand, I didn’t want to believe it. I _couldn’t_ believe that of her, not after-” He cuts himself off. This is the final secret, the one he’s never told her, at first because it didn’t seem important... and later, because he knew how hurt she’d be that he’d kept it from her for so long.

“After what, Mulder?” Scully asks. “What possible reason could you have to trust her that much?” Mulder looks down, the shame of it all pressing heavily on him. He’s failed her so thoroughly that maybe, just maybe, he can’t possibly hurt her any worse.

“Diana is my ex-wife, Scully,” he says quietly. And when he looks up and sees her face, he knows immediately that he was wrong, that his capacity to inflict pain onto the people he loves may well be limitless. She says nothing, and he doesn’t try to call her back as she turns and rushes back to her car, climbing in and taking off so fast that the tires actually squeal. 

His shoulders slumped, Mulder digs his cell phone out of his pocket and calls for a cab.


	15. Understanding

They reach a cease-fire of sorts on their return to the office on Monday, though very few words are exchanged about it. Mulder tries to apologize the moment Scully walks in the door in the morning, but she stops him immediately.

“I’m in no way ready to let this go or move on from it, Mulder,” she says, “but the fact remains that we need to work together, and this building isn’t an appropriate place to discuss this.” He nods meekly. “We’ve gotten the X-Files back, but you and I both know that if we can’t do our jobs, for any reason, this office won’t stay ours for very long.”

He’s tempted to push the matter- he’s been practicing his apology all weekend long- but he’s well aware that he’s on extremely thin ice with her right now. He has some idea that on Friday afternoon she had probably come as close to quitting as she ever has before, and it wouldn’t take more than a few wrong words from him to push her out of the door for good.

So he clams up, helps her finish setting their office back to rights, and even takes the very first case that she suggests, even though he’s not really sure that it qualifies as an X-File- or that it’s a good idea, at the moment, given what the case will require from both of them. By Wednesday, they’re on a plane to California, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, with unfamiliar suitcases stuffed with more of the same, on their way to the sort of neighborhood that Mulder would never, in a million years, want to live in.

He can’t stop fiddling with the wedding band on his left hand. The feel of it is at once familiar and foreign, and he keeps running his fingers over it again and again. He thinks that Scully might tell him to knock it off, that he’s drawing unnecessary attention to it, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s been fast asleep for most of the trip. It’s not unusual for her to sleep in the car, and their flight is early, so he’s not surprised she sleeps on the way to the airport... but she almost never manages to nap during flights, so when she spends both legs of the trip to California snoring, he starts to become a little concerned, especially when she dozes on and off the whole time he’s driving them to the Falls at Arcadia. But when his questions are met with the standard “I’m fine, Mulder,” he lets it drop.

The entire time they’re in Arcadia, Mulder can’t stop putting his hands all over her- at least, not when other people are around. They’ve been so distant from each other for weeks, leaving him starved for her touch, and now, he’s been provided with an innocent reason to seek it out. In fact, touching her is almost a requirement, as the residents of Arcadia will almost certainly notice if they don’t look like a normal, happy couple. He senses, however, that Scully doesn’t appreciate his affections at all, a fact that’s hammered home for him when she kicks him out of “their” bed and sends him downstairs to the couch.

He goes without protest. He knows he’s still on thin ice.

\------------------------------------

The feel of another presence in the bedroom is what wakes Scully on their last night in the mammoth cookie-cutter house. Even though the case has been resolved, the events of the previous evening have left her jumpy, especially since she’s still sleeping in the bedroom where she’d seen the creature attacking Big Mike. She’d cleaned the room up as best as she could, with Mulder’s help, but still, she’d rather not be sleeping here tonight.

She senses more than sees Mulder sitting on the side of her bed, and immediately, she’s annoyed. She’d made it clear to him that he should keep his distance, so what the hell does he think he’s doing, sneaking in here and watching her sleep? She sits up, ready to tell him off, but he speaks before she gets the chance.

“She wanted to have a child and I didn’t,” he says, his voice soft and sad. “That was what ended us. Or one of the reasons, anyway.” He sighs. “We never should have been together in the first place. Not really.” As tempted as Scully still is to send him packing, it’s the most he’s opened up to her about this so far, and she’s hesitant to stop him. She gets the feeling that he finds it easier to talk about this in the dark, so she doesn’t turn on the light on the nightstand.

“Why didn’t you want to have a baby?” she asks.

“A few reasons,” he says. “I was working under Patterson in VCU back then, profiling, spending all of my time trying to get inside the heads of the absolute worst that society had to offer. Part of me didn’t feel right bringing a child into a world where monsters like that existed. And there was my own childhood, of course... the fear that I guess everyone who grew up unloved has, the fear of turning into my own father.” 

Scully can’t help herself. As angry as she is, she needs to touch him. She reaches out and feels for his shoulder in the dark, running her hand comfortingly along his arm. He reaches up and takes her hand in his own.

“Don’t you still have those fears, Mulder?” she asks. “It’s not like you’ve seen anything to make you think that the world is any safer, since your days in violent crimes.”

“No, I haven’t,” he agrees. “But that was only part of my reason. When it came down to it... it was _her_ I didn’t want to have children with, Scully. We rushed into the marriage- my fault, more than anything, because I was lonely and desperate and wanted to believe that someone cared about me- but if we had waited long enough, I wouldn’t have married her.” In the dim light from the bedroom window, she can see him hanging his head. “Eventually I started to get this feeling about her... this sense of coldness, aloofness, selfishness, a sense of detachment. I started noticing that we never actually compromised, that we always ended up doing things her way, but that she always managed to make me _think_ we were compromising.” He sighs. “I started realizing that none of those things were traits I wanted in someone I would be raising a child with. And eventually... I realized I didn’t want to share my life with someone like that, either. We divorced, she went to Europe, and that was the last I saw of her until last June.”

“If you really felt that way about her, Mulder,” Scully says, “why was it so hard for you to believe me? Why were you so insistent on trusting her?”

“Because I wanted so badly to believe that she still cared for me, Scully,” he says. “Almost everyone in my life has died, left me, or betrayed me. Can you understand why I didn’t want to think that Diana was just one more person who had abandoned me?” He squeezes her hand tighter. “I’m so sorry, Scully. I should have listened. You are the one person in my life who has never, ever let me down. You deserve better from me than what I’ve given you.”

It’s that phrase- what he’s given her- that thaws her, because she’s struck, suddenly, with the full realization that he doesn’t _know_ what he’s given her. And she can’t let it stay that way. She moves to sit next to him and takes him in her arms, letting his head fall against her shoulder. She can feel his tears on her neck, feel him relax in relief against her, and she kisses the skin just below his ear before she draws back.

“Mulder,” she says, “I need to tell you something, too.” She takes a deep breath. “I think that this time... it worked.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t understand what she’s saying... but even in the dim light, she can see the moment that the realization dawns, the moment his face is flooded with joy.

“You’re-”

“I’m pregnant,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion. “We’ll get the real confirmation at my appointment next week, but....” She smiles tentatively. “I took a test, Mulder, and it was positive. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I told myself I was just waiting until the doctor confirmed it, but really, I was just so angry that I couldn’t make myself-” He cuts her off, there, by seizing her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. He kisses her fiercely, passionately, and she can feel his need for her thrumming in every inch of her body.

“Scully,” he says hoarsely, when they finally break apart. “Oh my god. Scully.” He kisses her again... and then laughs ruefully.

“What?” she asks.

“I just realized,” he chuckles. “This is just like before... just like at Christmas. We can’t- I mean, not that I was assuming that we would, but if we wanted to, we can’t... not until after your appointment, right?”

“No, we can’t,” she says, smiling. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay here with me tonight, does it?” He grins.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says. Still smiling, Scully tucks herself back under the covers, holding them open in invitation. Mulder climbs in next to her, taking her in his arms and holding her tenderly against his bare chest. She inhales deeply, filling herself with his scent, luxuriating in it.

She’s asleep within minutes.


	16. Sight

It’s not all immediately sunshine and roses between them, after Arcadia, after an emotional appointment with Dr. Sabarwal, who confirms Scully’s pregnancy the week after they get back to DC. They’re still cautious and wary around one another, and occasionally, Scully still finds herself snapping at him, or questioning his judgement perhaps a bit more harshly than she might have before the Diana fiasco. The case in California with Karen Berquist, certainly, causes some of those emotions to come flooding back, but for the most part, Scully manages to deal with them. She’s getting more and more confident, lately, that things between them are going to be just fine- an impression that’s encouraged by the amount of time Mulder tries to spend kissing her.

And then comes Philip Padgett.

If it weren’t for the events of the past several months, Scully would have simply assumed that Mulder’s response to Padgett was nothing more than his usual over-protectiveness. But now, she can’t help but feel that his jealousy is almost in retribution for her own reaction to everything that has happened with Diana. It grates on her, his presumption at barging into Padgett’s apartment with his gun drawn, trying to hide his possessiveness behind concern for her well-being. When he has the nerve to actually ask her whether she had slept with Padgett or not, it takes every ounce of her self-control to keep calm, to keep her temper in check. 

By the time Mulder leaves her in his apartment, struggling to pull on her boots, while he tears off to the basement in pursuit of their suspect, they’re hardly speaking to each other at all. 

\-------------------------

Scully lies motionless on the floor, her skin stained with blood, and for the space of a heartbeat, Mulder stands frozen in the doorway of his apartment as the world falls away around him. He steadies himself against the doorframe as lightheadedness overcomes him, the edges of his vision actually darkening… and then he’s flying across the room to her side.

She is white, so white, her already-pale skin nearly translucent, and the blood, God, there is so much blood, can she possibly be alive? Her chest isn’t moving, and in the face of the enormity of it, the very idea of her loss, like this, after everything, _now_ ….

He suddenly remembers the way he’s acted today, the things he’s insinuated about her. He’d never said that he was sorry for not trusting her, and it’s insane to be thinking about that now, to be lamenting that he’d never apologized for doubting her, as though his apology would make her any less-

 _No_. His mind refuses to even permit the word. Not in relation to Scully.

All of this flashes through his mind in the breath of time between him arriving at her side, and his knees hitting the floor by her ribs. Dimly, he feels the blood, _her_ blood, soaking into the knees of his jeans, as he reaches out for her.

With a shudder and a gasp, her eyes open.

For a moment, she doesn’t seem to recognize him, and she jerks her arms back against his hold, her eyes full of panic and terror, but he keeps a firm grip on her until she sees that it’s only him. She doesn’t calm, though; instead, she dissolves into the most violent sobs he’s ever heard from her, worse than when she’d been saved from Pfaster’s clutches, worse than when her mind had been tricked into thinking he had betrayed her, worse, even, than after Emily’s funeral, when she’d cried into his suit jacket outside of the church for nearly a half hour.

Mulder bends down as far as he can, even though the angle is excruciating for his back and knees, mindful of the fact that she could be gravely injured, and slides his arms carefully around her, helping her to sit up. She clutches at him with a desperation that nearly breaks his heart. Her hands scrabble at the back of his shirt, move higher, past his collar, and he suddenly feels a sharp sting as her nails dig into his neck and scalp, hard enough to draw blood.

He doesn’t care.

He thinks, dimly, of the defensive wounds murder victims leave on their killers, and it seems appropriate that she’s marking him in much the same way, because isn’t it his fault, as always, that she’s here? He had torn off to the basement without a second thought, knowing full well that Padgett’s accomplice had still been at large, that the writer’s attention had been focused tightly on Scully, that she could be at risk. He could have waited long enough for her to pull on her boots and follow him to the basement, but no, he had run on ahead, without a second thought for her. Just like always.

Scully is, at last, beginning to calm in his arms, her uncontrolled sobs subsiding into sniffles and hiccups, but she’s trembling violently, shaking against his chest, and with most of the feeling having gone from his legs and his lower back screaming, Mulder can’t remain in this position any longer. Without stopping to worry that Scully will be angry at his presumption, keeping one arm at her back, he slides the other under her knees and stands, cradling her carefully against his chest. She keeps her arms locked behind his neck and doesn’t protest. He briefly contemplates where to put her while he calls for an ambulance; the couch is closer, but she’ll be more comfortable on his bed.

She shivers violently in his arms, and he opts for comfort.

For once, Mulder is glad that he’s careless about the state of his bedroom, because the unmade bed makes things much easier, allowing him to set Scully down without first turning down the covers. He sits her on the edge of the mattress and gives the comforter a sharp yank, pulling it around her shoulders, keeping her warm while he surveys the damage. He looks, hesitantly, up at her face, and she meets his gaze.

“We need to see what he did to you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, Scully nods. She reaches for the buttons at the front of her blouse, and the comforter, freed from her grasp, begins to slide back down to the bed. Mulder catches it and pulls it back up. “Let me,” he says, and Scully nods, returning her hands to anchor the blanket around her shoulders. Mulder carefully frees each button from its mooring, bracing himself for what he’ll find underneath the blood-soaked cloth… but the skin of her chest, under her ruined bra, is unbroken.

It’s far from unmarked, though. A livid bruise, at least eight inches in diameter, has bloomed on the left side of her chest, directly over her heart. Mulder sucks in his breath at the sight of it, and Scully glances down.

“I felt it happening,” she whispers. “I felt my skin tearing, I could feel my ribs separating, my heart being squeezed.” She shudders, tears threatening again, and pulls the blanket tighter. “I’ve never felt pain like that, Mulder. Never. Not even during the worst of my cancer.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “Why didn’t he finish the job?” she asks. “Why am I still alive? Where did Padgett go?”

“He’s in the basement,” Mulder says, and the thought of Padgett, standing in front of the incinerator with his manuscript, is enough to remind Mulder of what he still has to do. Reluctantly, he stands.

“Where are you going?” Scully asks, trying valiantly to keep the panic from her voice. Mulder can’t blame her; there had been no sign of Naciamento anywhere in the apartment, and it’s quite possible he’s still on the prowl.

“Padgett is still in the basement,” Mulder says. “He as good as told me you were going to be the next victim, Scully. I want him back in custody before he has the chance to do any more harm.” Bending down, he takes his backup weapon from his ankle holster and hands it to her, but she shakes her head.

“Mulder, I shot at Naciamento. I emptied my magazine straight into his chest and it didn’t even slow him down.” She pushes his gun back at him. “That’s going to do you far more good in arresting Padgett than it will protecting me right now.” She’s right, of course; Mulder had heard the gunshots. Scully doesn’t miss shots at a hundred paces. There’s no possible way she could have missed her target at point-blank range. He bites his lip, weighing both courses of action: go after Padgett and leave Scully unprotected, or stay with her until the ambulance arrives, potentially letting a killer slip through his fingers?

He only has to look at Scully, really, to decide.

Mulder digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials nine-one-one. Scully groans when she hears him requesting an ambulance, but he continues on, undeterred. He calls in for backup and to report an agent down, suspect still at large. That done, he tucks his phone away and sits on the bed beside Scully.

“The paramedics are unnecessary, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“If that’s true, they’ll be able to tell us when they get here,” he replies.

“And what are we going to tell _them_?” Scully asks. “That the ghost of a psychic surgeon attempted to remove my heart from my chest and was somehow interrupted?”

“We tell them that you’ve been attacked,” says Mulder simply.

“They’re probably going to want me to go to the hospital,” she protests. “We could be there for hours, easily. Possibly even overnight.”

“Scully,” says Mulder, his voice gentle, “you need to let them check you out. You know you do. Especially now.” His gaze bores into her, and finally, with a sigh, she nods. “And if they keep you overnight, I’ll stay with you, I promise. You won’t be alone. Not for a second.”

“They won’t let you,” Scully says. “If I’m admitted, they’ll send you home, I’m sure.”

“Just let them try,” Mulder says fiercely. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and together, they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

An hour later, after a frustrating and uncomfortable question-and-answer session with a thoroughly confused ER doctor, Scully lies on her back, a sheet spread over her lap, Mulder standing at her shoulder, as an ultrasound technician slowly moves the transducer over her still-flat stomach. The tech frowns at the screen, and Scully reaches up, over her shoulder, seeking his hand, which he gladly gives. He can feel her shaking again.

“Is something wrong?” Mulder asks the technician nervously. The young woman gives them both a reassuring smile, but Scully does not relax.

“It may be too early to see the fetus this way,” the tech says. “What did you say your doctor placed you at? Nine, ten weeks?”

“About nine and a half weeks, yes,” says Scully shakily. The tech nods.

“We might have better luck with a trans-vaginal ultrasound, then,” she says, turning to a set of cabinets against the wall and removing a folded white square of cloth. “I’ll need you to remove all of your clothes below the waist and drape this over your legs, please.” Scully looks up at Mulder, her face white. 

“Do you want me to leave the room?” he asks her quietly. She bites her lip and shakes her head. If the ultrasound tech finds his question strange, she doesn’t say anything. Once Scully is settled back on the table, Mulder takes her hand again, giving her what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

The tech does some maneuvering, and Mulder tries desperately not to think too hard about what, exactly, is going on down there. Scully squirms slightly in discomfort, and the tech murmurs an apology. There’s a moment of silence as all three of them watch the shifting, snowy static on the screen... and then, suddenly, there’s a strange, rhythmic flashing, an impossibly fast fluttering of white in the middle of all that grey and black. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. Mulder tries to speak, fails, and tries again.

“Is that-”

“Yup, that’s a good, strong heartbeat!” the tech says, grinning. “The doctor will be able to tell you for sure, but if I had to say, I’d guess your doc was right on the money. I’d put you at about ten weeks.”

Mulder tears his gaze away from the thrumming image on the ultrasound screen and looks down at Scully. Her blue eyes are swimming in tears, and she’s shaking again, struggling to hold in her emotions. Mulder bends down over the ultrasound table and envelops Scully in his arms, and as she begins to cry in earnest on his shoulder, he dimly hears the tech telling them she’ll give them a moment, that she’ll be right outside.

They end the evening as they began it: with Mulder bending low over Scully, clutching her against his chest as she cries- as they both cry. But this time, they’re both crying tears of joy.


	17. Insatiable

If Scully doesn’t stop shaking her sweet little ass against Mulder’s crotch, he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions.

True, it was his idea to call her to meet him here, his idea to spend the evening with her in a deserted baseball field. And he’s the one tho thought it would be fun and kind of cute if they tried to hit at the same time. The stance, too, the way that he’s totally wrapped around her with his chin tucked into her shoulder, that was his idea.

But the way they’re pressed together, not an inch of space between them from knees to shoulders? That’s all Scully, wriggling backwards into him until they’re locked together like two perfectly-matched puzzle pieces. If she keeps this up, if she keeps sliding her tempting backside across the front of his pants, wiggling her hips far more than necessary, Mulder’s going to lose all self-control, and the kid loading the pitching machine (the son of a single dad who lives on Mulder’s floor) is going to get a lesson in sex ed that he’ll never forget.

They miss two pitches in a row in spectacular fashion, mostly because they’re too busy being handsy on the bat to get a proper grip, and Scully lets out the most genuine peal of laughter- incredibly sexy laughter- that Mulder has ever heard from her. And just like that, he loses the battle against his growing arousal, and he’s suddenly as hard as a rock. She freezes the moment she feels him rubbing against her... but instead of moving away, she gives him an impish smile over her shoulder and grinds herself slowly, sensually against him. He lets out a feral growl into her ear and just barely manages to restrain himself from biting at her neck, like a rutting tomcat trying to get a better grip. Which is, essentially, what he’s going to be reduced to before long if she doesn’t knock it off with that tight little ass.

He’s done his research pretty thoroughly, and he knows that pregnancy hormones can frequently have a marked effect on a woman’s libido. He wonders if that’s what’s inspiring Scully’s teasing, or if she’s normally this playful, this demonstrative.

He’s also wondering how far this mood will take them tonight.

When the bucket of baseballs is empty, Mulder reluctantly peels himself away from Scully and pays the kid, who scampers off to his dad’s car, waiting in the parking lot. Together, he and Scully round up as many baseballs as they can find in the dark outfield, collecting them back into the bucket and carrying them to home plate. Scully stands next to the bucket, holding the bat, considering it thoughtfully.

“My high school in San Diego was more than a little lacking when it came to women’s athletics,” she tells Mulder, sighing. “There was field hockey, which I never cared for, and basketball, which I was too short for.” Mulder bites his tongue on a few jokes he suspects won’t do much for the mood he’s trying to create tonight. “I knew what sport I wanted to play, though, and Title IX had passed about six years before I started high school, so my dad pointed out to me that I just as much legal right to go out for the team as any of the boys.” She bends down and takes a baseball out of the basket. She tosses it up in the air, takes a textbook-perfect batter’s stance, and belts it out of sight into center field. Mulder stares at her, his mouth hanging open.

“Scully,” he says, “don’t tell me you already knew how-”

“Varsity baseball, all four years of high school,” she says, grinning cheekily at him. “It drove Bill crazy. He never got further than JV.”

“Then why did you let me think I was teaching you?” Mulder asks. “I feel like an idiot now! Why didn’t you say anything?” Scully’s smile turns impish again as she drops the bat and saunters over to him, leaning against his chest. She runs one hand down his stomach, stopping just below the button on his jeans. He gasps sharply.

“And miss getting a little better acquainted with this?” she asks. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Mulder has seen a thousand different versions of Scully over the years. There’s Scully the ass-kicking special agent, Scully the brilliant scientist, Scully the loving daughter and sister, Scully the stoic survivor. But this Scully, this flirty, forward Scully who sees what she wants and goes for it without any trace of shyness or hesitation... this is a Scully he’s never seen before, and he hopes like hell she’ll be coming out to play again in the future.

Mulder bends down enough to wrap Scully tightly in his arms. “If you’d like to get better acquainted, Scully,” he growls into her neck, “that can be arranged.” He kisses her forcefully, backing her up across home plate until she’s pressed into the backstop. He slides an arm under her and lifts her against the fence, and she wraps her legs around him, grinding against him more forcefully, seeking as much contact as she can find. She whimpers in frustration when it’s not enough, and he takes one hand from his waist and slides it down between them, cupping her through her jeans as she moans in gratitude. 

Given that he’s not yet learned exactly how she likes to be touched, it takes a surprisingly short time before she’s gasping and trembling against him in a way that tells him, beyond any doubt, that he’s gotten her there. He strokes her hair and murmurs encouragingly into her ear as she comes back down, and when she gets her breath back, she smiles up at him.

“I think,” she says, her voice hoarse, “that we should probably get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”

“Agreed,” he says. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours is closer,” she says, kissing her way up his neck and nibbling at the skin just under his ear.

“Yours is cleaner,” he says. “Probably has fresh sheets on the bed and everything.”

“Mulder,” she sighs, “do you really care that much about clean sheets right now?”

She emphasizes her point by taking his earlobe into her mouth and sucking on it gently, and Mulder decides that no, clean sheets are not, at the moment, a priority.


	18. Agreement

There’s almost nothing about what Scully is seeing that indicates to her that she might be dreaming. Everything is solid, firm, corporeal, not a hint of fog around the edges, anywhere she looks. Her apartment, as she wanders through it, looks precisely as it always does, not a plant or a picture frame out of place.

The only clue that this isn’t real is, at first, the fish tank, instantly recognizable as Mulder’s, sitting against the wall in the corner of her living room.

She crosses the room to investigate, frowning in confusion, when the sound of Mulder’s voice, drifting through the apartment, catches her attention. It’s muffled, as though coming from behind a closed door, but she thinks that....

Her confusion deepens. Is Mulder _singing_?

His voice, she deduces, is coming from her spare bedroom, the door to which is closed. She recognizes the song that he’s singing in a low, warbling voice- it’s something she remembers hearing on the radio pretty frequently a few years back. It had caused her heart to clench in her chest, the first time she’d heard it, because it had reminded her of her father.

_“Remember all the songs you sang for me_   
_When we went sailing on an emerald bay?_   
_And like a ship out on the ocean, I’m rocking you to sleep._   
_The water’s dark, and deep inside this ancient heart,_   
_You’ll always be a part of me.”_

Scully pushes open the door to find that the room has been completely transformed. The walls have been painted a soft peach, the plaid drapes on the window have been replaced with white lace, and in place of the full-size bed that once stood against the left-hand wall, there’s now a handsome cherry crib. Mulder is standing in front of it, facing away from the door, rocking slowly back and forth. He turns when he hears her approach.

Nestled in his arms, fast asleep, is a newborn baby girl.

“Hey,” Mulder says in a low voice, smiling softly at Scully. “I finally got her to sleep.” He looks incredibly proud of himself, and his expression melts into one of total devotion as he gazes down at the little pink bundle in his arms. Scully crosses the room to them slowly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“She is,” Scully agrees, standing by his side and looking down into the tiny, scrunched face. The baby snuffles in her sleep, then quiets back down. Scully reaches out, slowly, reverently, and strokes the soft, downy fluff on top of her head. Mulder lifts her up and presses a tender kiss to the baby’s forehead.

“She’s got your nose,” he tells Scully. “Lucky girl.” Scully chuckles.

“This is another dream,” she says quietly, and Mulder becomes serious. They’ve been continuing to share dreams- not every night, but often enough- in the week since being rescued from the underground fungus on Brown Mountain. 

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees. “It’s a good one, though, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Scully says. She leans against Mulder’s shoulder, watching him watch the baby. “Is this one mine, or yours, do you think?” Mulder frowns.

“I think....” He hesitates, glancing down at her. “Is my fish tank out in the living room, Scully?” She nods. “I think it’s mine, then. Unless you’re harboring concerns for the well-being of my fish that you haven’t shared with me, I don’t know why you would imagine their tank into your living room... whereas I’ve pictured it plenty of times before.” His gaze doesn’t waver as she processes the implications of what he’s telling her.

“So....” She swallows hard. This is _the_ question, the one they’ve been dancing around ever since she’d asked him to help her, the one she’s been too frightened to ask him for nearly a year now. She’s still terrified, even now, when she knows she’s dreaming, that none of this is real. “When you think about the future... about after the baby is born... this is what you imagine?”

“Yeah,” he tells her, and in his eyes, she can suddenly see that he’s every bit as afraid as she is. “Yeah, Scully, it is.”

He imagines being here, in her apartment. Living here, presumably, if his fish are here. Holding their baby. Singing her to sleep. Holding her, kissing her, doting on her like any awestruck and devoted parent would do.

He imagines being a father to their child.

“What do you imagine, Scully?” he asks her, his voice shaking ever so slightly. She looks down at the child in his arms, sleeping peacefully, and strokes their daughter’s velvety cheek.

“This,” she whispers. She looks up at him to find his eyes full of joy and relief. “I imagine this.”

The dream fades out as Mulder bends and presses his lips to hers.

\---------------------------

Mulder slowly surfaces from sleep to find Scully already awake. She’s facing him in her bed, her eyes shining in the dim light from her bedroom window. He can’t quite make out her expression in the dark, but if he had to guess, he’d say that she’s nervous.

“So,” he says, his voice sleep-rough and slurring, “think there’s any chance that this means we’re having a girl?” The tension drains from her face, and she laughs weakly.

“You really were dreaming that with me, then?” she asks. “I was scared it might just be wishful thinking on my part.” He shakes his head. “How long have you felt this way?” 

“Truthfully?” She nods. “Since long before you ever asked me to help you do this.” She’s suddenly perfectly still- he’s not even sure she’s breathing- and he worries that he’s said too much. 

“When did it start?” Her tone of voice is difficult to read, but he decides, the hell with it, he’s telling her the full truth for once.

“Not long after I fell in love with you,” he admits. Her hand gropes on the mattress between them, and he reaches out and takes hold of it.

“Which was when?” she whispers.

“Do you remember John Lee Roche?” he asks her, and she shudders.

“How could I forget?” He nods- it’s a stupid question, really.

“Do you remember, after it was all over, when we were back in the office and you told me to go home and sleep?” 

“I remember thinking you wouldn’t listen to me,” she says. “I think you hugged me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was sitting in my chair, and you were standing next to me, and I leaned over and put my arm around your waist.”

“My hips, really,” Scully interjects, and he chuckles.

“Okay, your hips,” he amends. “I’ll admit, I knew I was probably pushing the bounds of what you would consider appropriate, but you didn’t stop me. You held my head against your stomach-”

“Against my breasts, wasn’t it?”

“Woman, will you let me tell you this story or not?” She laughs. “Anyway, you held me and stroked my hair, and I just... I felt so safe, all of a sudden, in spite of everything that had happened. I felt this incredible surge of affection and I realized... no one in the world had ever made me feel the way that you did. The way that you _do_.” He strokes her cheek. “And from that moment, I knew that I loved you.”

“Mulder....” Her voice breaks on the ragged edge of her tears, and she closes the space between them, kissing him deeply.

“I don’t want to miss anything, Scully,” he tells her when they finally draw apart. “I want to be here with you for all of it, if you’ll have me.” She holds his hands in both of hers and kisses his knuckles tenderly.

“I’d like that, Mulder,” she says.


	19. Family

Mulder can't seem to stay still as he and Scully stand on Maggie Scully's front steps, waiting for her to answer the door. Scully reaches out and grabs his arm.

"Can you please stop fidgeting for thirty seconds, Mulder?" she sighs.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"I've told you before, there's no reason for you to be nervous. She's not going to be mad."

"She wasn't exactly happy about the whole thing last September," Mulder points out.

"She was more angry that I hadn't told her that we were trying than anything else," Scully says. "And she was devastated in January, when we lost...." She swallows. "When I got shot." She squeezes Mulder's shoulder comfortingly with one hand and reaches out to open the front door with the other. "She's going to be happy for us, Mulder. Stop worrying."

Inside, Maggie, who is retrieving a steaming lasagne from the oven, kisses both of them on the cheek and waves them in to the dining room, where the table is set for three. She carries the dish in and serves them, then sits at the head of the table.

"So," she says, slathering butter onto a slice of fresh, crusty bread, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Not that you need any excuse to come to dinner- either of you- but you sounded as though you and Fox had news for me, Dana." Her eyes are twinkling; Scully has a sneaking suspicion that at least part of their announcement is going to be superfluous.

"Yes, we do," she says, and takes a deep breath. "We wanted to tell you that our last round of in-vitro fertilization was a success." Her face breaks into a wide smile; she can't yet say the words without feeling a head-to-toe flush of joy. "We're going to have a baby, Mom." At the confirmation of her suspicions, Maggie Scully beams. Her eyes sparkle and she holds her fingers to her lips, composing herself.

"Oh, Honey," she says. She stands and goes to her daughter, enveloping her in a warm embrace. "I'm so happy for you, Dana. I've been praying for you." She turns and smiles at Mulder, then embraces him, as well. "For both of you." She's sniffling slightly as she returns to her seat. "So tell me everything. When are you due?"

"The end of December," says Scully, and braces herself while her mother does the math in her head.

"But it's June now," says Maggie. "You're already almost out of the first trimester, Dana! Surely you haven't just found out?"

"No, Mom," says Scully. "But after what happened in January... we wanted to wait, this time, before we told you. We didn't want to get your hopes up." Maggie's clearly not thrilled about this, but she nods her understanding.

"Do you know what you're having yet?" Scully shakes her head.

"I haven't had an amnio or anything," she says. "So we won't know until the twenty-week ultrasound." She smiles at Mulder. "But Mulder thinks it's a girl."

"Really?" asks Maggie, eyebrows raised. "What makes you think that, Fox?"

"I, uh...." Mulder ducks his head sheepishly. "I had a dream about her." Maggie smiles indulgently.

"A dream?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "It felt... very real."

"Well," says Maggie, going back to her lasagne, "I suppose that if you turned out to be right, it wouldn't be the strangest thing either of you have ever seen."

"Probably not even the strangest thing this month," says Mulder. He glances over at Scully, and in his gaze, she can easily read the question: _Are you going to tell her the rest?_ Scully clears her throat, and Maggie looks up at her quizzically.

"There's something else, Mom," she says. "Mulder and I...." She blushes and looks down at her plate. "Well, we've been... um, that is-"

"Well, goodness, it's about time," says Maggie, and both Scully and Fox jerk their heads up to stare at her. She looks back at them innocently. "What? You're going to tell me that the two of you are an item now, aren't you?" Scully nods. "Dana, it's not exactly a surprise. To be honest, I've been waiting to hear this for years." Scully stares at her mother, mouth agape, and looks to Mulder, who is wearing a similar expression. Maggie chuckles, shaking her head. "Really, you two. You like to think you're so secretive about everything, but it's all over your faces whenever you look at each other." The idea terrifies Scully. If her mother has guessed, who else knows? Does Skinner? "So, " Maggie continues, "how does that change your plans, then? For after the baby comes?" Scully sighs inwardly. _Right into it, then_ , she thinks. But to her surprise, it's Mulder who speaks up first.

"Well," he says, "the lease on my apartment is up at the end of October. And I was thinking...." He glances at Scully, who nods in encouragement. "That is, we were thinking that if things are still going well, it would make sense if I moved into Scully's apartment."

The silence that follows Mulder's announcement is deafening. Maggie looks back and forth between the two of them, her lips pursed tightly.

"So, that's a 'no' on seeing you married before the baby arrives, then?" she asks. Scully sighs, determinedly avoiding Mulder's gaze.

"Mom, we've been together a grand total of two weeks now. Can we not rush into anything just yet, please?"

"Fine," says Maggie. "I'll let it go for now. But you should both think about it, you know." Scully doesn't answer, choosing instead to focus on her food. But when she looks at Mulder, he's watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Mulder is quiet for most of the drive home, saying almost nothing until they're only a few miles from her apartment.

"We could, you know," he says suddenly, glancing over at her. "If you wanted to." It takes Scully a moment to realize what he's talking about.

"What, just because my mom wants us to?" She shakes her head. "I'm not nearly that old-fashioned, Mulder. Having a baby out of wedlock doesn't bother me." She peers at him curiously. "Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't," he says. "I just... I thought that if you were going to be upset by the things people say when they find out-" He stops speaking when he sees that Scully is trying valiantly to restrain her laughter. "What's so funny?"

"You really think people are going to gossip about us _less_ if we get married?" She shakes her head. "Mulder, I think that as far as our being a topic of water cooler conversation is concerned, that ship sailed years ago." Mulder chuckles, conceding her point. She reaches out and squeezes her hand. "That doesn't mean I don't appreciate the offer, Mulder. Thank you." He nods, and Scully can't help but notice that he looks... is that disappointment on his face? "Mulder?"

"Hmmm?" He doesn't take his eyes from the road.

"Did you...." She bites her lip. "Was that something you would _want_ to do?" Now he does look at her, though the streetlights don't provide enough illumination for her to see his expression. The silence stretches on, and Scully begins to regret having asked... when finally, he ducks his head slightly as he looks back at the road.

"Is that so hard to believe?" he asks her. She shakes her head.

"No," she says softly. "It's not." She reaches across the center console and he, without taking his eyes from the road, reaches for her in turn, twining his fingers with hers.

"I'm not asking yet, Scully," he says. "I agree with you about not rushing things... but I agree with your mom, too... that we should think about it."

Scully gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Me too."

\-----------------------------------------

Alone in his apartment, Mulder picks up the phone and dials, his heart thumping madly in his throat. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and he's just starting to wonder how much trouble he would be in for breaking the news on an answering machine when, finally, the phone is picked up.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end is somewhat harried.

"Hey, Mom," says Mulder, and there's a pause.

"Fox," says Teena. "Is everything all right? Has something happened?" He's annoyed, for a moment, that she's assuming he would only call if he'd been hurt... until he remembers that he's not entirely certain when the last time he'd phoned his mother had been.

"No, everything's fine, Mom," he reassures her. "Great, in fact. I, uh... I just called because I had something I wanted to tell you." Silence. "I wanted to let you know that... well... you're gonna be a grandmother, Mom." There's a sharp intake of breath.

"What on earth are you talking about, Fox?"

"Scully's having a baby." Nothing. "In December. I'm going to be a father."

"I didn't realize that you and your partner were... involved," says Teena, her voice flat.

"Yeah, well... we kind of keep it to ourselves."

"You could have told me, at least." Mulder sighs, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a stab of irritation. Since when does she even care?

"Yeah, well, I'm telling you now," he says. "Listen, Mom, I just thought you'd want to know, okay?"

"Of course I want to know, Fox," says Teena, her voice a little softer. "How is she feeling? Your partner?"

"She's doing fine," Mulder says. "She's past the worst of the morning sickness. Her doctor says everything looks good."

"And you?" Teena asks. "How are _you_ feeling about this, Fox?" She pauses. "I know... this wasn't always something you were interested in." Mulder swallows at the memory of his mother's face when he had broken the news about the end of his marriage, about Diana's reasons for leaving.

"I'm great, Mom," he says, and he means it. "I'm happier than I can remember being in a long, long time."

"That's good, Fox. I'm glad," says Teena, and for once, she sounds sincere. "You'll keep me updated, on how everything is going?"

"Yeah, sure," Mulder says. "Maybe... you could come down here sometime? For Thanksgiving or something?" Teena pauses.

"Maybe," she says. "I'll have to see how my plans shape up. And I'll come visit after the baby is born, of course." Mulder flinches slightly at what Scully will think of this; his mother has never been Scully's favorite person.

"That would be great, Mom," he says. "I'll let you go now, okay? I've got some work to get done before bed."

"All right," says Teena. "And Fox?"

"Yeah?" There's another brief silence.

"I'm happy for you."


	20. Threatened

She’s just about out of chances.

She knows this, not because anyone has told her, but because of the way that Spender has sneered at her whenever she’s been in his presence, these past weeks. He has a plan, he needs her help, and should she deviate from what is required of her, even the slightest bit, she’s finished.

And by “finished,” she doesn’t mean “fired.”

It’s this thought that forces her across town to American University the moment Alex Krycek calls her cell phone. The implicit threat on her life is what drives her to haul Fox up off of the floor in the stairwell, to ignore his faint protests as she guides him to her car, to bat his hands away as he tries to keep her from fastening the seat belt across his lap.

As Diana pulls out of the parking lot, heading for Arlington, Fox turns to look at her. His head is swiveling on his neck, he’s got about as much control over it as a rag doll, but still, he manages to fix her with a cold, angry look.

“I know what you did,” he says, his voice hoarse and slurring. She glances at him, eyebrows raised, and looks away again. Even in his pitiable state, the way he’s looking at her hurts.

“I’ve done a lot, Fox,” she says. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“To Scully,” he says. “I know what you did to Scully.” 

“I haven’t done anything to your partner, Fox,” Diana snaps- and technically, it’s the truth. Spender’s men had only altered the fetus; no one has put their hands on Scully without her permission- at least, not yet. If she shows up right now and gets in the way, Diana will have no choice.

Diana is startled out of her thoughts by Mulder’s sharp intake of breath, and when she glances over at him, he’s glaring at her with undisguised fury. It suddenly occurs to her that he may be far more difficult to manipulate than she had anticipated. Whatever has happened since the events at El Rico, Mulder’s opinion of her seems to have deteriorated.

“Fox,” she says, careful to keep her voice gentle, “you’re not yourself. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’re not thinking clearly. You need to go home and rest.”

“You can try to distract me all you want, Diana,” he says. “It’s not going to work.”

 _We’ll see about that_ , Diana thinks to herself. Her orders are to keep him calm, to keep him from his partner, and to keep him from hurting himself long enough for Spender to finish making his arrangements at the hospital and at the Department of Defense. She’s still got one powerful weapon left in her arsenal, and if her ex-husband is even remotely the same man that he once was, it’s guaranteed to work.

\------------------------------

Diana is right about one thing: Mulder is not himself. He doesn’t have the strength to fight back as she all but drags him up to his apartment and dumps him into his bed. He tries to sit up, but is immediately dizzy and collapses back onto his pillow with a groan. Diana pulls the blankets out from underneath him and tucks him in, her face dripping with false sympathy and concern.

He can’t work out what, exactly, she has planned for him, but he can tell from the tone of her thoughts that she’s here on Spender’s orders, and that Spender needs Mulder for something of great importance. Diana seems to be here to hold him, to keep him away from Scully, Skinner, or anyone else who might interfere, and to help give the impression that he’s sick enough to warrant hospitalization. It’s what comes afterwards that he can’t quite make out in Diana’s mind- though he’s certain it won’t be anything good, at least not for him.

One thing is crystal clear to him, however: Scully must be kept away, at least for now. If she comes to his apartment, if she interferes in any way, Spender is prepared to take her out. Diana’s intentions where Mulder is concerned might be muddled and difficult for him to decipher, but he’s having absolutely no trouble seeing what she would do to Scully, should his partner show up and try to take charge of his care- nor is he having any difficulty sensing how much Diana would enjoy doing it.

He knows now, beyond any shadow of a doubt: Diana _hates_ Scully, for convincing him to give his partner what he had once denied his wife. Diana will not hesitate to harm Scully, should the need arise; on the contrary, she seems to take great pleasure in the idea.

And so, knowing this, when Scully calls from New Mexico, Mulder summons all of his willpower to keep himself from asking her to come home, from begging her to come and rescue from Diana’s clutches. Instead, he argues with her, goads her, challenges her... and finally, hangs up on her. Let her stay in New Mexico, trying to find evidence to prove him wrong, thereby keeping herself and the baby safe, and far away from Diana.

He hears Diana on the phone with someone else, and then there’s a brief silence... and then, quiet footsteps are padding towards him across his bedroom floor. He hears a soft shushing sound, as though a piece of clothing has just hit the floorboards, and moments later, the mattress dips behind him, and there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Fox?” Diana rolls him to face her, and he sees, with a jolt of horror, that she’s removed her shirt. “Let me help you feel better, Fox,” she croons, sliding a hand under his shirt and snuggling close. Mulder jerks at the touch of her hand on his bare skin, pulling away from her, but she follows him. She pushes him onto his back, working the fabric of his t-shirt upwards, exposing his torso, and bends to kiss his neck. He struggles, but she’s leaning almost all of her weight onto him, and in his weakened state, he can’t dislodge her.

“No,” he groans, his headache intensifying as he fights back harder. “Diana, NO.” But she continues as though she hasn’t heard him... and god help him, he can feel himself beginning to respond, human physiology trumping his will, and he realizes with a sickening shock that she could very well do this to him entirely without his consent.

Her hand creeps downwards, unbuckling his belt, and that’s all it takes to galvanize him enough to make one last attempt. He jerks his head forward sharply, striking Diana in the forehead, knocking her backwards, and at the same time, he rolls away from her. He falls off of the bed and hits the floor with an ungraceful thump, stars flashing in front of his eyes... but at least she’s no longer touching him.

When his vision clears, he sees Diana stalking around the foot of the bed towards him, all vestiges of warmth gone from her face. She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a syringe.

“I had hoped to avoid going to these lengths, Fox,” she says, uncapping the needle, “but you’ve left me no choice.” And before Mulder can move, she jabs the needle into his leg, depresses the plunger, and the world goes dark.


	21. Terrified

Scully’s self-control is immediately pushed to its breaking point the moment she walks into the hospital and sees Diana Fowley standing there. All she can think about is the loss of her first pregnancy, the abnormalities in her and Mulder’s child, the evidence that someone had tampered with it, and the knowledge, above all, that this woman had passed information on both her and Mulder to the most evil cabal of men that Scully has ever known.

It’s only the presence of Walter Skinner that stops her from attacking Fowley head-on, or from giving any sign that she knows anything about her true allegiances or what she’s done. Skinner has no idea, as of now, that Scully is pregnant, or even that she and Mulder have been trying to conceive, and with the suspicious way he’s been acting since assigning them this case, she would very much like to keep it that way. Nor does she want Fowley and the people she reports to knowing that their latest attempt had been successful.

Scully storms away from both of them, aware of Fowley’s eyes burning holes into her back. She throws open the door to the monitoring station they’ve just left and finds Mulder’s doctor still there, watching Mulder on the screen, frowning thoughtfully.

“I need you to let me in to see him,” she says, and the doctor shakes his head.

“As I’ve already told you, he’s been extremely violent to anyone who’s approached him. He attacked the woman out in the hallway earlier. I’m afraid that I cannot permit you to risk-”

“And I’ve already told _you_ ,” interrupts Scully, fixing the doctor with an icy glare, “that he will not harm me.” On screen, Mulder screams her name yet again, and the desperation in his voice feels like a knife in her gut. “I fully understand the risks and I take full responsibility. I’ll even sign a waiver if you want me to, but one way or another, I am going into that room- alone- and speaking with my partner.”

The doctor heaves a sigh and lifts one hand to rub wearily at his temple. “Fine,” he says. “But there will be orderlies outside of the door, and if he shows even the slightest sign of becoming violent, I’m sending them in, and this time, he’ll need to be fully restrained.” Scully nods tightly.

“Thank you,” she says. The doctor opens the door and holds it for her.

“Please follow me,” he says, and Scully does.

\-----------------------------

His head is a cacophony of voices, some familiar, some not, coming and going without warning. The mounting pain in his temples is going to kill him if it doesn’t let up, but as bad as it hurts, it’s secondary to the constant confusion of babbling that has taken over his mind.

After Diana had drugged him, he had regained consciousness in a hospital bed with her by his side, mumbling to herself in a confusing disjointed manner about sedatives, about the artifact, about Scully... about him. But when his vision had cleared enough for him to see her face, he’d realized that her lips were not moving. His strange ability, wherever it had come from, is still there. If anything, it’s getting stronger.

That had been the moment that he had vaulted from his hospital bed on unsteady legs and had seized a very surprised Diana by the shoulders, shaking her roughly, demanding answers from her as she had called for help. Orderlies had materialized from nowhere, restraining him, and since then, he’s been here, in this cell.

He can still sense Diana nearby, and while he’s finding it harder to make out her thoughts as clearly as before, he has, at least, gleaned one valuable piece of information: after drugging him in his bedroom, she had done no more than call an ambulance, and then sit calmly on the edge of his bed until it had arrived.

She had not, in the end, raped him.

He understands now that she had merely been trying to distract him, to keep him safely in his apartment until... but that’s where it becomes muddled and confused. All he knows is that she’d wanted him calm and docile. If he had slept with her, she would have drugged him during the act, but one way or another, the evening would have ended with her jabbing a syringe into his thigh.

There’s a pleasant wave of sensation at the edge of Mulder’s consciousness, like the feel of pressing a cold ice pack to a burn, the relief of a painfully cramped muscle releasing under massaging, caring fingers. It’s as though someone has just shone a warm, bright light into a dank and musty room, and he knows, immediately: it’s Scully.

For a moment, he’s overjoyed, until he remembers that Diana is out there as well. The thought of Diana following Scully out of the hospital, back to her apartment, taking her out as she walks, unsuspecting, to her front door, sends a blaze of terror through him. He has to warn her. He looks up at the camera mounted in the corner.

“ _SCULLY!_ ” His sense of her is stronger now, and he can hear the myriad questions tumbling through her mind at light speed, but he can’t keep up. If there had been any doubt left in his mind that she is smarter than he is, it’s now been thoroughly eradicated. 

Even though Mulder can’t make out her individual thoughts (and he’s not sure he wants to- Scully would be mortified, and then would likely kill him), he has not trouble sensing her fear, her worry, her frustration at being kept from his side. And when they finally open the door to his room and let her in, the wave of love that hits him is so strong that it quite literally drives him to his knees.

“Scully,” he croaks, and immediately she’s there, her arms around him. He’s surrounded not only with her sweet scent and her warmth, but with the feel of her devotion to him, her relief at being by his side.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I got here as quickly as I could.” Mulder shakes his head.

“Not important,” he says, his voice hoarse. Speech is becoming progressively more difficult, and not just because his throat is raw from shouting. It feels as though it takes more and more effort to take a deep enough breath to get the words out. His mouth and tongue fight him as he struggles to warn her. “Scully... Diana. When you leave here... don’t let her follow you.” He’s slumping against her, barely able to keep himself upright. She pulls his head into her lap and strokes his hair. “She’ll hurt you.” A violent shudder runs through him at the thought. “To keep you out of the way.” He looks up at her imploringly. “Please, Scully. Don’t let her.”

“I won’t,” she says soothingly. “I’m going from here to the airport, Mulder. What’s happening to you... if the rubbing made from that artifact is really what caused it, then maybe seeing the rubbing’s source will help me figure out how to stop all of this.” Mulder nods his agreement with this idea. He has no illusions that there’s anyplace that Scully could go where she would truly be safe from Spender and his ilk, but somewhere as far away as the Ivory Coast is a start.

“I’ll....” He swallows,trying to will his mouth into action. “You go. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she tells him. “You’ve got to rest, Mulder. You need to keep calm. I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll take care of you and we’ll get you out of here.” He nods again as she begins to stroke his hair, and he nuzzles as close to her as he can get, the side of his face pressed into her stomach.

A strange sensation begins to take over his mind, and suddenly, his entire being is awash in a sense of peace, a sense of security, a sense of being closely protected. He closes his eyes and relaxes into it, regulating his breathing, trying to still the impulses of his limbs to move and twitch. The feeling is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. It’s as though he is weightless, suspended in warmth, completely enveloped in the knowledge that nothing can happen to him here.

It’s an absurd thought- there are countless terrible things that could happen to him here, and he’s fairly certain that at least some of them _will_ happen, and soon. Still, Mulder clings to this feeling as tightly as he can, allowing it to fill him up, to slow his heartbeat, to calm him.

It’s only later, after the doctor has reappeared to state, emphatically, that visiting hours are over, that he realizes that that feeling may not have been coming from Scully at all.


	22. Helpless

Mulder cannot turn his head to watch Scully approach his bed, but he can sense her drawing nearer to him. For the first time since Diana had spoken to him, making her confessions of her love for him and of her loyalty to his greatest enemy, the hot sickness that grips his belly begins to subside. He cannot so much as turn his eyes up to meet hers, no matter how badly he wants to, but he _can_ allow the tumult of his mind to relax into the warmth of her love for him, and he does so eagerly.

As she tells him what she’s found in Africa, he can see the alien craft in her mind as clearly as though he were standing on the beach next to her. He can feel her fervent wish that he had been there beside her to share in the discovery, her anxious worry that the craft will be gone before she has the chance to take him to it, that the greatest and most indisputable piece of evidence they’ll ever have the opportunity to study will be lost... possibly before she can use it figure out how to cure him. Her fear tinges the edges of her love for him, making it into something desperate, not as soothing as before.

But underneath....

That all-encompassing feeling of peace and security, that feeling of being protected, is still there, even stronger than it had been before Scully had gone to Africa. And now, more than ever, Mulder is certain: he is sensing the developing mind of their unborn child.

This must, he supposes, be how all children feel when they are very young, before the world does its best to show them just how much danger is out there, and how little power their parents truly have to shield them from it. He thinks that maybe even _he_ must have felt this way, once, in spite of how inept his parents had turned out to be at protecting him from the evils of the world.

In that respect, Mulder knows, this child will be luckier than most. This child will continue to enjoy this feeling of total safety far longer than most, because he knows that even if this is it for him, even if he dies in this hospital, Scully will be so fiercely protective of their child that even Spender might think twice about messing with the kid.

“Mulder... please. Hold on,” Scully begs him, squeezing his hand. “You’ve got to hold on. For us.” And she pulls his slack arm towards herself, placing his palm on her belly and holding it there. Though he can’t move his fingers, he can feel the firmness of her stomach underneath her clothing, the slight, gentle roundness that has only just begun to make itself known. It doesn’t show, not to anyone who’s not looking for it, but Mulder has spent hours running amazed hands over it as they’ve lain naked in her bed together, and he knows it’s there.

With his hand this close, he can sense his child even more strongly now. He allows the feeling of tranquility, mingled with Scully’s complete adoration of both of them, to fill him up.

_I’m here, Scully_ , he thinks. _I’ll hold on as long as it takes. If you can’t figure out how to help me, no one can._

\-------------------------------

Once, when their marriage had been less than two years old, Diana had taken Fox to a family reunion at her grandfather’s home outside of Boston. Their courthouse wedding had been almost spur-of-the-moment, with only the judge and his secretary as witnesses, so the reunion had been the first time that most of Diana’s family had met Fox. She had been excited to show him off, her handsome, brilliant, Oxford-educated husband, the FBI’s golden boy profiler, a well-bred gentleman from a wealthy New England family. She had imagined her older sisters and her cousins practically salivating with envy over the match she had made for herself.

But something had happened that day that she had not expected.

It had started when Preston, Diana’s three-year-old nephew, had thrown himself at Fox’s legs, causing him to stumble. Her sister Daphne had come running after her son, mortified, but before her apology had been half-formed, Fox had collapsed dramatically to the lawn, clutching his legs in mock pain as Preston had giggled. Fox had tickled him, transforming his giggles into peals of laughter, and Daphne had been positively charmed.

All day long, Diana’s various nieces, nephews, and littlest cousins had followed Fox around, engaging him in wrestling matches, chatting with him about their schools and their friends and their dance lessons and baseball practices, conning him into sharing his dessert with them, and generally helping him to win the favor of every parent present at the reunion.

“He’s going to make a wonderful father one day soon, Diana,” her mother had said approvingly, a warm hand on her daughter’s shoulder, and Diana had flushed with happiness at the thought. And she had known, with absolute certainty, that her mother had been right. Fox had always been wonderful with the children they had encountered in the field, putting young witnesses and victims at ease with his gentle and sympathetic manner. And now, seeing him in a more lighthearted environment, she finds she’s even more anxious to start a family with him than she had been before.

“Fox, let’s have a baby,” she had whispered to him in bed, several nights later. She had always assumed, somehow, that he had been ready for it, that he had been deferring to her judgement, as the person whose career would be most affected by the change, to decide when it would happen. She had expected that Fox would smile broadly at her suggestion, that he would ask excitedly whether she were certain... and maybe, they could begin that very night.

Instead, Fox’s entire body had gone suddenly stiff.

“I don’t want children, Diana,” he’d said shortly, and her happiness had been doused with the efficiency of a bucket of cold water thrown on a blazing fire. She’d pushed against his chest, withdrawing from his arms and retreating to the opposite side of their bed.

“Why not?” she had demanded. He had looked at her incredulously.

‘With what I see every day at the bureau, what would make you think I’d have any interest in bringing a child into this world, Diana?” he’d said.

That night had been the beginning of the end for them. 

At the time, Diana had told herself that it had been her own fault. How stupid had she been, to rush into a marriage without even discussing something as important as having children beforehand? In the years after the divorce had been finalized, she had let much of her bitterness fade away, especially after she had learned about the impending colonization. Fox had been right, though not for the reasons he’d thought: bringing a child into a world that’s soon to end would be pure madness.

All of that anger, all of that hurt and bitterness she had thought she’d let go of, all of it had come rushing back the moment she’d found out that Fox was trying to have a child with Agent Scully.

They’ve succeeded; Diana’s eyes had caught on the barely-there swell of Scully’s stomach during their confrontation in the hallway of the Hoover building. She doubts anyone else is aware of it- she had only noticed it herself because she’d known what to look for.

Agent Scully is wrong: Fox would not, as the woman had put it, “bust his ass” trying to save her. Not the way that he would for Scully. Diana knows all about it, his rush to Antarctica to pull his partner from the ice, and she can say with some certainty that he would not have gone to such lengths for her... or, at least, she doesn’t _think_ he would. She doesn’t really want to find out.

Diana is, however, completely certain of one thing, something she’s known ever since that long-ago family reunion: Fox is meant to be a father. And it’s this knowledge, not Scully’s mistaken notion of Fox’s devotion to his ex-wife, that finally tips the scales of her conscience and spurs her to action and motivates her to slide her keycard under Agent Scully’s door.

Fox is _meant_ to be a father. This is what she clings to, what she reminds herself of, over and over, as she sits alone in her apartment.

Waiting.


	23. Mourning

It takes Mulder a moment, as confused as he still occasionally is, to process that Scully is walking away from him, down the hallway, towards the elevator. There’s a momentary flash of annoyance- how can she just leave after a confession like that? But it’s tempered, quickly, by the realization that they’ve both been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks. It’s perfectly understandable that she might be at least a little uneasy around him for a bit.

“Scully,” he calls, and she stops, looking back over her shoulder curiously. “Where are you going?” She blushes softly.

“I, uh….” She looks down, fidgeting adorably. “I wasn’t sure if maybe you wanted to be alone.” Her eyes raise tentatively to his. “I mean… she was your ex-wife, Mulder. I thought maybe you’d want me to let you grieve on your own for a little while.”

“Scully,” he says, holding out his hand to her, “get back here.” Her face relaxes into a smile, and she turns fully, walking back down to his apartment door with a pleased flush on her face. He takes her hand and draws her close to him, sliding his arms around her. Holding her close, Mulder backs into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he murmurs into her hair. “But I honestly can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be easier for me to handle with you by my side.”

“I just… I wasn’t sure,” Scully says softly. “I thought that maybe… with what you saw, the life that you told me that you dreamed of on that table… you might need time to sort things out.” Inwardly, Mulder curses himself for ever having told her the details of his bizarre, disjointed hallucinations.

“That wasn’t me, Scully,” he assures her. “There’s no universe possible where I would walk away from you just because Spender told me I had to. If any of that had been real, one way or another, I would have found my way back to you.” His right hand slips down between them, coming to rest on her belly, which is ever so slightly larger now than it had been when this entire mess had begun. “I would have found my way back to both of you.” Scully squeezes him closer, and he hears her sniffling into his chest. “I don’t know where Spender got the idea that I would ever have chosen a life with Diana, but he was wrong. The only part of that dream with any ring of truth to it was the end- where you came in and kicked my ass for being an idiot.” Scully laughs.

“That does sound closer to reality,” she admits. She pulls away from him, discretely wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I know that whatever Spender put in your head wasn’t there because you wanted it to be. I’m being stupid about this.”

“You’re not,” Mulder promises her. “I’d probably be a little uncomfortable, too, if the situation were reversed.” She nods.

“Skinner says he’ll let you know when he finds out about Diana’s funeral arrangements,” she tells him. “Her family is taking her body back to New Hampshire, but there’s going to be a service here first.” She looks up at him, biting her lip. “I could… I could go with you,” she suggests. “If you want.” He smiles, bending to kiss her forehead again.

“Of course,” he says. “You don’t have to get back to the office right away, do you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Probably not,” she says. “I’m not doing much other than paperwork, not until you’re cleared to be back in the field. Why?” Mulder grins at her, leading her further into his apartment, towards his bedroom door. She pulls away almost immediately.

“Mulder, no,” she says sternly. “You’ve been out of the hospital for less than a week. You’re not ready for that sort of physical exertion yet.”

“Who said anything about exerting myself?” he asks her. “I was planning on letting you do all the work.”

“ _Mulder_ ….”

“Come on, Scully,” he cajoles her. “I haven’t been allowed to touch you in weeks. I promise, I’ll just lie there. I won’t move.” 

“Just what every woman longs to hear from her lover,” grouses Scully. Mulder focuses on looking as sad and pathetic as possible, and finally, Scully heaves a sigh. “No movement,” she instructs him. “If you start getting out of breath, even a little bit, we’re stopping. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Mulder promises.

All in all, he thinks, he does a decent job obeying Scully’s orders. She has to stop, once or twice, until he’s mastered himself… but really, he challenges any man (or woman, for that matter) to keep completely calm and still with a woman like Scully sitting astride him. Mulder is the king of believing the strange and the unlikely, but this is one thing he’s fulling willing to admit is absolutely impossible.

——————————-

Diana’s service is surprisingly well-attended, given that she had only been back in the country (supposedly) for less than two years. Most of the attendees are fellow agents, from a variety of departments and divisions. Both Skinner and Kersh are among them. Skinner nods cordially to Mulder and Scully; Kersh steadfastly ignores them both.

A few members of Diana’s extended family, those who live nearby, are also in attendance, as well as, of course, her parents. Stephen and Barbara Fowley stand at the front of the church, a receiving line of two, greeting mourners with austere and straight-backed dignity, and Mulder heads straight towards them. Scully holds back for a moment, nervous, but Mulder takes her by the elbow, smiling reassuringly down at her.

“It’s fine, Scully,” he tells her. “I want you with me.” She nods and follows him, aware of Skinner’s eyes on them as Mulder’s hand settles at the small of her back. Stomach knotted with apprehension, they approach the bereaved parents, and Scully reminds herself, as her breath comes more quickly, that this meeting will be far more difficult for Mulder than for her. Not for the first time, she’s thankful that she’s not really showing (at least, not to people who don’t already know her well), because she doubts that Mr. and Mrs. Fowley are ignorant as to the cause of the demise of her daughter’s marriage, and this meeting is likely to be awkward enough as it is.

Diana’s parents both offer a tight smile as Mulder approaches. “Thank you for coming, Fox,” says Mrs. Fowley. “It’s good to see you. Diana told us that you’d been working together again.” She kisses Mulder stiffly, then steps back to allow him to shake her husband’s hand. Mulder reaches out and draws Scully forward with the hand at her back again.

“This is my partner, Dana Scully,” he says. “She’s been on the X-Files with me for the past seven years.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Fowley,” Scully says. “Diana was an excellent agent.” As she reaches out to shake Mrs. Fowley’s hand, the older woman swiftly looks her up and down, her jaw clenched tightly, and Scully realizes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that Diana has, at some point in the past year and a half, confided quite a bit in her mother, at least where her former husband was concerned.

“Yes, Diana mentioned to us that you were… _working_ with someone new, Fox,” Barbara Fowley says, her voice suddenly icy. “It’s good to know that you feel able to give someone what you denied our daughter.” Mulder looks distraught.

“Barb, that’s enough,” hisses Mr. Fowley. 

“Barbara,” says Mulder, “I didn’t- I never meant to-”

“It’s all right, Fox,” says Mr. Fowley, his hand on his wife’s arm. “We understand that there was more going on in Diana’s marriage than what she shared with us.” Barbara Fowley snorts derisively, but her husband ignores this. “We’re just grateful that the two of you were on good terms before this happened.” Mulder nods, thankful for the rescue from Mrs. Fowley’s anger, and he and Scully move quickly away, allowing the next people in line to give their condolences.

“Mulder, are you all right?” Scully asks, as they make their way to a pew near the back of the church. He nods, though he still looks as though he’s likely to either cry or vomit at any moment.

“I just never realized,” he says quietly, as they take their seats, “how much Diana had told them. They always treated me as if I were their own son, when we were married… I guess that explains why they cut off contact completely when we divorced.” Scully reaches over and takes his hand, and he smiles shakily at her. “Guess it’s a good thing your mom likes me so much, huh?”

“My mother loves you, Mulder,” Scully assures him. “And so do I.”

The service is brief, and with Diana’s body headed up to New Hampshire for burial, there’s no procession to the cemetery. There’s no invitation back to anyone’s home for refreshments, either; a small spread of fruit, danishes, and coffee is offered in the church basement, but Mulder and Scully elect to skip this and go straight home. It’s Mulder’s first trip out of his apartment since being discharged from the hospital, and already, his head has begun to ache.

As they’re making their way across the narthex, Scully catches sight of Skinner standing across the vestibule, watching them closely, his expression unreadable. He seems to be scrutinizing Scully in particular, and she nods to him, but instead of returning the gesture, Skinner strides briskly over to them.

“Agent Mulder, I trust you’re recovering well?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” Mulder replies. He grins down at Scully. “I’m told I should be back in the office in a week, if I listen to my doctor and take it easy.”

“That’s a big ‘if,’“ says Scully, and Mulder laughs. Skinner, however, barely cracks a smile.

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “Because I’ll need to see you in my office the moment you return to work. _Both_ of you.” Without another word, Skinner turns and walks away, joining the mourners heading for the church basement. Mulder looks nervously at Scully.

“I think he knows,” he whispers, as they leave the building. “Did you see the way he was looking at you, before he came over to talk to us? He looked right at your stomach.”

“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not, Mulder,” says Scully. “He’s legally forbidden to ask me whether or not I’m pregnant, and he’s _definitely_ forbidden to ask me who the father is.”

“Yeah, but this is Skinner we’re talking about, Scully,” says Mulder. “He’s stretched the meaning of ‘legal’ on more than one occasion.”

“That was to help us,” counters Scully, and Mulder laughs.

“Exactly,” he says. “If he’s that willing to stretch laws when it’s to help us, how much further do you think he’ll be willing to stretch them if it’s to kick our asses?”


	24. Evasion

Agents Mulder and Scully generally arrive in Assistant Director Skinner’s office in one of three ways. 

Most commonly, they stride through the door confidently with their heads held high, fully prepared to justify whatever insanity they’re being called to the carpet to defend. Sometimes, they slink in with their heads hanging down, an almost palpable aura of guilt surrounding them, steeling themselves to weather the ass-kicking they know they probably deserve. And once in awhile, usually when Skinner calls them in while a case is still in progress, one or both of them will be nervous and jumpy, all but shouting that they’ve got something in the works, that they’re about to do something reckless that will most likely lead to them being called back to this office within days.

Today, though, when Mulder and Scully arrive and take their usual seats in front of the desk, Skinner can tell immediately that something is different. Mulder is all nerves, to be sure, fidgeting restlessly in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, searching his pockets for something to play with, and repeatedly looking at Scully. She, on the other hand, is the perfect picture of calm, legs crossed at the ankles, her hands clasped in her lap. She seems wholly unflappable, her demeanor making it perfectly clear that nothing that Skinner says or does will rattle her.

“Thank you for coming, Agents,” he says, seating himself behind his desk. “I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about.”

“Yes, Sir, we are,” says Scully. To her left, Mulder continues to fidget.

Skinner pauses for a moment before continuing. He’s walking a very fine line here, he knows it, and he can read all too clearly in Scully’s face that she knows it, too. There are things he’s not permitted to ask, or even insinuate, but if he could just convince them, for once, that he’s on their side....

“Agent Mulder, I’m glad to see you back from your medical leave,” he says.

“Thank you, Sir,” Mulder says, looking bewildered. Clearly this wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“But before I officially sign off on your return to the field,” Skinner continues, “I need to know: is there anything that I need to know about your physical condition that might make your returning to active duty an unwise idea?” He looks back and forth between them. “Either of you?” Scully narrows her eyes.

“If you have questions regarding my health, Sir,” she says in a clipped voice, “please state them clearly.” Skinner curses to himself. Does she have to make it so damn difficult when all that he wants to do is help?

“I’m not trying to pry into your personal business, Agent Scully,” he says carefully. “I just want to make certain, as your superior, that I am doing all that I can to keep both of you safe. And if there’s any reason that field assignment is not the appropriate place for one or both of you- even if it’s only a temporary situation- I need to know.” He sighs. “I’m on _your_ side, Agents. I want to make things easier for you, not harder. Is that so hard to believe?” Scully’s face softens ever so slightly. She glances at Mulder, who gives the slightest of shrugs.

“At this time, Sir,” Scully says, her voice a little less formal now, “there is nothing that would render either Agent Mulder or myself unfit for active duty. But I can promise you that if that changes, we’ll let you know at once. You don’t need to worry about m-” She stops herself. “About us staying in the field past the point where it could be considered safe.” Skinner holds her gaze for a moment longer; then, finally, he nods in concession. This is all the confirmation Scully is willing to give him right now, and he’ll have to be satisfied. He knows better, by now, than to try to force anything from her that she doesn’t want to give. It’s an exercise in futility.

“All right, then, Agents,” he says. “That will be all.” At his dismissal, Mulder and Scully rise to leave, Mulder looking relieved beyond measure as he allows Scully to precede him to the door. “Oh, and Agents?” They stop and turn back. “Off the record... congratulations.”

\----------------

It’s hours later when Mulder meets him in a back table at The Headless Woman. Scully, Skinner knows, doesn’t much like this place, ever since Agent Pendrell’s fatal shooting here, almost three years ago, so he’s not surprised when Mulder slides into the booth across from him alone. He orders a beer from the server as she’s passing, then turns to face Skinner.  
“So,” he says, heaving a sigh, “I guess you’ve got some questions.”

“A few,” says Skinner wryly. “I thought... that is, I was under the impression that this wasn’t possible.” He’s read the reports, of course. They might not all make perfect sense to him, but he’s been able to understand the basics: whoever had taken Scully, years ago, had kept her ova when they’d returned her. There had been that sad business with the little girl out in California the Christmas before last- Skinner can’t remember her name- and he’s always sensed that asking Scully for any clarification on the issue would border on cruelty.

“There was one thing I never told you,” says Mulder. “I only told Scully less than two years ago, actually. Not too long after she was diagnosed with cancer, during the early days of our investigation, I found a vial of Scully’s ova at a top-secret research facility. The baby Scully is carrying was conceived through in-vitro fertilization, using those ova.”

“And are you-”

“I’m the father, yes,” Mulder confirms, and Skinner would have to be blind to miss the pride in his subordinate’s face. “Scully asked me to help her.” Mulder’s beer arrives, and he takes a long swig. “It took a few tries, but we got there in the end.”

“When is she due?”

“Right around Christmas. As of now she’s planning to stay in the field as long as possible, but she’s promised me she won’t work one day longer than she feels able.” Skinner snorts; he can’t quite help it.

“Scully kept working through cancer until she quite literally passed out in my arms and nearly bled to death in front of half the bureau’s top brass,” he says, shaking his head. “What makes you think she’ll be any different now?”

“Because then, she was only risking her own health,” says Mulder. “After everything it took to get us here, she’s not about to take any unnecessary risks, believe me. This is too important to her- to both of us.”

“So am I to assume your duties didn’t end with your donation, then?” Skinner asks, and Mulder looks at him incredulously.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’m in this with her, a hundred percent. I want this just as much as she does.” Skinner nods and sits back in his booth, taking a long pull from his scotch.

“So you’re going to be a father,” he says, finally, and Mulder grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “Does that scare the shit out of you or what?” Skinner considers it thoughtfully.

“You know what?” he says. “I know it should... but somehow, no, it doesn’t.”


	25. Gratitude

“This was a mistake.”

Scully sighs and just barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes yet again. Next to her, in the passenger seat of her car, Mulder fidgets nervously as she pulls into her mother’s driveway.

“Which part?” she asks him. “The part involving my brother or the part involving your mother?”

“The part where we agreed to come at all,” says Mulder.

“It’s going to be fine, Mulder,” she tells him, for what seems like the sixth or seventh time. “Bill already knows everything and he’s fine with it. He’ll either behave himself or my mother and Tara will _make_ him behave.”

“And _my_ mother?”

“What are you so worried about, Mulder?” Scully demands. “You told me she was all right with the baby. You told me she was happy.”

“That’s what she said,” Mulder replies. “But she’s had time to think about it in the past five months.”

“I’m sure she hasn’t changed her mind,” Scully reassures him as she puts the car in park and turns off the engine. Several seconds tick by, but Mulder makes no move to get out. “Mulder,” she says, quietly, “It’s going to be okay. And even if it’s not, we can always leave early.” She reaches over and takes his hand. “And no matter what happens tonight, no matter what gets said or who says it, nothing changes this.” She pulls Mulder’s hand across the console and settles it on the now-unmistakable bulge of her belly. Mulder takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “Let’s go.”

Maggie must have seen them pull up, because she opens the front door before they reach it, her smile as warm as the cozy living room behind her. 

“We were beginning to wonder,” she says as they approach. She hugs Scully first, beaming broadly, and then hugs Mulder, kissing his cheek and making him blush. “Fox, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “Your mother and I were just talking about how exciting it is, with Dana getting so close.” Across the living room, Teena Mulder is sitting stiffly on the sofa, and she stands and crosses to her son.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Fox,” she says, kissing him perfunctorily on the cheek before turning to Scully. “Miss Scully-”

“Dana, please,” says Scully, as Teena kisses her cheek, as well, then looks her up and down, a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and much to Scully’s shock, there’s an air of genuine concern in her voice. 

“Just about ready for this part to be over,” she says, and it’s absolutely true. Since getting pregnant, she’s been through their fights about Diana right after El Rico, the stress of the cases they’d taken immediately after, and the terror of Mulder’s predicament less than two months ago, not to mention his subsequent recovery. Scully feels as though by the time things had calmed down, she’d entered the most uncomfortable portion of her pregnancy without having had any time to really enjoy (or even focus on) being pregnant. Teena smiles sympathetically.

“I remember how it was with both of mine,” she commiserates. “By the eighth month I was so exhausted that all I wanted was to sleep through the rest of it.”

“Not a bad idea, when you consider what’s coming next,” Maggie chimes in. Before she can continue, though, there’s a squeal from the kitchen doorway, and the next thing Scully knows, she’s engulfed by her sister in law’s extremely enthusiastic embrace. Tara’s hands go immediately to Scully’s belly (as she’d guessed they would; Tara never seemed the type who would understand that not all pregnant women like being touched), and she squeals again as the baby kicks.

“Dana, you look amazing!” Tara says, and without giving Scully a chance to speak, she hugs her yet again. “I couldn’t believe it when your mom told us. Bill and I are so happy for you guys!” She looks over her shoulder, back to the kitchen doorway, where Bill Scully, holding Matthew in his arms, is awkwardly waiting for his sister to notice him.

“Hey, little sister,” he says. His wife shoots him a pointed look, and he smiles sheepishly. “Congratulations.”

————————————-

Dinner, to Mulder’s intense relief, is not the exercise in torture, guilt, and humiliation that he had been dreading. Whether Tara and Maggie have had some stern words with Bill ahead of time, or Teena’s presence is making him wary of displaying any overt hostility or he’s genuinely happy for his sister, Bill is calmer, kinder, and more accepting than Mulder has ever seen him. He’s not exactly friendly to Mulder, but he’s perfectly civil. 

“So Mom wouldn’t tell us if you’re having a boy or a girl, Dana,” he says, as they’re digging into their dessert. “Are we allowed to know, or is it a secret?”

“I guess it’s more or less a secret,” says Scully with a shrug. “Since we don’t know, either.” Bill raises his eyebrows.

“Didn’t you have a twenty-week ultrasound?” he asks, and glances at Mulder. “You’re not one of those new-agers who thinks they’re harmful, are you?” Scully sighs.

“No, Bill, we’re not. We’ve had the ultrasound, and everything was perfectly normal… we just decided, at the last second, that we’d rather be surprised.”

“Though I still have my money on it being a girl,” Mulder interjects.

“I still maintain that shopping for gifts would be an awful lot easier if we knew what color we should be shopping for,” says Maggie.

“I agree,” says Teena, and they share an understanding nod.

“So you shop after the baby’s born, or keep the receipts,” says Mulder, helping himself to a second slice of pie.

“And there are plenty of things that you need for a new baby that are gender neutral,” says Tara supportively, and Scully gives her a grateful smile.

When dessert is finished, Tara chases Maggie away from the table. “No, Mom, you did the cooking,” she insists. “And Mrs. Mulder, you’re a guest… and you, Dana, don’t even think about it. Go sit down and relax, all of you. We’ll clear the table and do the dishes.”

“Yeah, Scully, go take a load off,” says Mulder, giving her a good-natured shrug towards the living room. “We’ve got this.” From his high chair at the end of the table, Matthew rubs chubby fists into his eyes, smearing the remnants of his dinner across his face, and lets out a lethargic cry.

“Actually, do you think the two of you can handle the clean-up?” Tara asks Mulder and Bill, as she unbuckles Matthew from his high chair. “This little guy’s exhausted. I think I should get him cleaned up and ready for bed.” Bill glances at Mulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Go ahead, we’ll manage.”

Bill and Mulder have the dishes cleared and scraped in short order, and in the kitchen, Mulder begins to wash them, and Bill takes up a position as his left, drying them and putting them away, since he knows where everything goes. They’re silent for the first few minutes, but it’s not all together uncomfortable.

“So you really didn’t want to know what you’re having?” Bill asks, when they’re nearly halfway done. 

“I like surprises,” he says. “Good ones, anyway. And Scully didn’t want to know, and I was pretty sure I’d end up accidentally spilling the beans if I knew and she didn’t.”

“Or she’d beat it out of you,” says Bill, and Mulder chuckles, nodding.

“Or that,” he agrees. He hands Bill the serving platter that had held the turkey, and Bill carefully dries it. “You know,” Mulder ventures, against his better judgement, “you’re not taking this… that is, I thought that you’d-”

“You expected me to tear you limb from limb the moment you walked in the door,” says Bill gruffly.

“Something close to that, yeah,” says Mulder.

“I gotta admit, if this had happened a year ago, I might have,” Bill admits. “But after last year… after Christmas, after everything that happened with that little girl… Dana’s daughter….”

“Emily,” says Mulder heavily. Bill nods.

“After seeing my sister like that, and thinking it was the only chance she’d ever have to be a mother….” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t begrudge her this. It’s not how I would have chosen for her to have a child, but….” He takes the washed gravy boat from Mulder and dries it, then stretches to an upper cabinet to put it away. “It’s her choice. She asked you, you said yes, and I’m happy that it’s working out.”

With the dishes finished, Bill goes upstairs to check on Tara’s progress with Matthew, and Mulder decides to join the others in the living room. He stops in the doorway, his leftover wine from dinner in his hand, and watches the three of them for a moment, smiling softly.

He’d never have imagined this scene, not in this lifetime: Scully, heavily pregnant with his child, sitting with both her mother and his, listening to them sharing advice and stories of their experiences with their own children. Three resilient women, three mothers who have lost daughters, sharing wisdom and comfort as new and old parents have for generations.

Scully looks up after a moment. Seeing him, she smiles and pats the sofa next to her. Smiling back at her, and feeling more content than he can ever remember being, Mulder goes to take his place by her side.


	26. Unexpected

In the six or seven years that Mulder and Scully have known Walter Skinner, they’ve never known him to attend any sort of social gathering, much less host one himself. So when he drops by the basement office two days before Christmas to invite them to his New Year’s Eve party, they’re taken by surprise.

“Of course, I understand you can’t commit one way or another,” Skinner tells them, with a pointed look at Scully’s stomach. She’s four days from her due date and three minutes from reaching in and yanking the baby out all by herself. “But if nothing’s changed by then, and you feel up to it, I’d like it if you could both come.”

Privately, Scully doubts she’ll survive that long if she hasn’t given birth by then... but when New Year’s Eve arrives, and she’s got nothing to show for it except a few particularly intense Braxton-Hicks contractions, Scully allows Mulder to coax her into her lone maternity dress and out of her (now their, as of October) apartment.

“Come on, Scully,” he wheedles, as he pulls her, protesting and grumbling, out of the building and to the car. “Our boss has finally deemed us fit enough for public consumption to invite us to a social gathering. Don’t you want to reward his faith in us?”

The drive to Skinner’s apartment in Crystal City is just long enough for Scully to breathe her way through a few more Braxton-Hicks contractions. Each time, Mulder glances over at her nervously.

“Should we be timing these?” he asks, and Scully shakes her head.

“It’s not the real thing yet,” she says. “There’s no rhythm to them whatsoever. They don’t even hurt yet.”

“Yeah, but your pain tolerance is considerably higher than the average person’s, Scully. I’ve seen it. Are you sure we shouldn’t-”

“Mulder,” Scully snaps, cutting him off, “I went through the trouble of squeezing into this dress and putting on makeup, and I’m not going anywhere except to this party. At the stroke of midnight, and not a moment later, I’m getting back in this car, you are taking me home, and I’m not doing anything that I don’t want to do until this baby finally decides to make an appearance. Understand?” Mulder nods meekly, and says nothing for the duration of the drive.

A light snow has begun to fall by the time they arrive. Mulder glances up at the sky nervously, then at Scully, and appears to weigh the risk of commenting on potential risky driving conditions before deciding to keep quiet. Skinner, drink in hand, meets them at the door and attempts to thrust a glass of scotch at Mulder, who shakes his head.

“Better not,” Mulder says, and leans over to whisper something in Skinner’s ear that makes their boss immediately look concerned. Before either can start trying to convince her that maybe she should head to the hospital, Scully shakes her head and walks away as quickly as she can. 

Scully wanders from one group of fellow agents to another for an hour, making polite conversation, answering far too many well-meaning questions about when she’s due, how she’s feeling, whether or not she’s ready for this to be over yet. She fields the occasional labor-and-delivery horror story (why do people insist on sharing these with first-time mothers?) and dodges the obvious gossips who are clearly only looking for juicy tidbits to share at the water cooler. The entire time, she splits the remainder of her focus between keeping an eye on the steadily-increasing snowfall outside, and timing her contractions, which are increasing right alongside the snowfall.

With less than half an hour to go until midnight, Scully is finally no longer able to talk through the contractions, and the intervals between them are decreasing quicker than she would have believed possible. Carefully placing her half-drunk flute of ginger ale on the nearest table, she goes in search of Mulder.

Seconds later, however, she feels a sudden, warm gush of fluid between her legs, and she freezes in place, her breath catching in her throat. She’s just wondering what her chances are of finding Mulder before anyone notices when there’s a sudden gasp to her left.

“Oh my god!” shrieks Kim, Skinner’s assistant. “Your water broke!” As people around them begin to turn and gawk, Scully tried frantically to quiet Kim down.

“Kim, don’t-” But Kim whirls to the room at large, paying Scully no mind.

“SOMEONE FIND AGENT MULDER!” she yells, over the music, over the hum of conversation, and every eye is immediately on them. “AGENT SCULLY’S WATER JUST BROKE!” Scully feels her face go immediately red as every guest in the room simultaneously gasps and turns to look at her. Excited murmuring is suddenly everywhere, and moments later the crowd parts, revealing a panicked Mulder and a terrified Skinner, barreling through the guests at top speed. They skid to a halt at either side of her.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” Scully insists. “We should probably just- ohhhhh....” She groans sharply and bends at the waist, as much as she’s able, clutching at her belly, as the strongest contraction she’s felt so far seizes her. Mulder takes her arm and leads her through the crowd, towards the door. Skinner follows along behind them.

“We should call an ambulance,” he suggests. “It’s been snowing for hours and the roads are getting dangerous.” Scully opens her mouth to tell him that’s ridiculous, they’ll be fine driving on their own, but another contraction rolls over her and her words die in her throat. Mulder makes a strangled noise that suggests he’s inches from panic, and as the trio leaves the apartment, borne on a wave of well-wishes from the guests, Skinner pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Through a haze of pain, as she waddles slowly down the hallway, leaning on Mulder, Scully hears the AD calling for an ambulance, arguing with the dispatcher; then, as they reach the elevators, he hangs up in disgust.

“There are four multiple-car pileups in this part of town, because of the snow,” he says. “Every ambulance in the area is busy.”

“Don’t- need- an ambulance,” Scully grunts at him. “You drive us.”

“Me?” Skinner’s panic seems to ratchet up a notch when Scully nods.

“You’re a Vietnam veteran,” Scully says, as the contraction releases her from its grasp. “Are you telling me you’re too scared to drive a pregnant woman to the hospital?” Skinner opens his mouth to answer, but his retort dies in his throat as Scully doubles over with another contraction.

“They shouldn’t be this close together yet,” says Mulder anxiously. “This is faster than the book said it would be. What’s going on?” Scully shakes her head, unable to speak, and keeps moving, smacking the elevator button with all the force she can muster. Mulder and Skinner follow her into the car when it arrives... and as the doors slide shut, Scully suddenly feels an incredible pressure in her pelvis, accompanied by a deep, instinctual compulsion to push. She groans, leaning her back against the wall of the elevator and sliding to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Skinner demands, as both men kneel next to her. “What’s going on.”

“Now,” Scully huffs, beginning to pant. “The baby’s coming now.” Mulder pales.

“Not now!” he says. “It can’t come now, not here!”

“Yes. NOW.” Scully insists. She begins to wiggle out of her soaked underwear, grateful for her decision to wear a dress, and Skinner hastily stands and turns his back. “Mulder,” she pants, “need you to check. If you can see. The head.” Mulder nods, terrified, and lifts her dress, peering between her legs... and he immediately falls back on his hands, his eyes wide.

“I can see it!” he exclaims, looking up at her, his eyes wide, his panic intensifying. “It’s coming! What do I do?”

“Nothing,” Scully grunts. “Guide the head- as it slips- ouuuuuuut!” The urge to push hits her hard, and she obeys immediately.

“It’s coming out!” Mulder yells excitedly, and in the corner of the elevator, Skinner looks, in spite of himself, and quickly turns away again, leaning his head on the elevator wall. “No, wait!” yells Mulder, as the contraction ends. “It’s going back in again!” He looks up at Scully. “Is that normal?”

“Mulder, you said you read this part of the book!” yells Scully.

“Six months ago, Scully!” says Mulder defensively. “And that was before having part of my brain cut out!” There’s a sudden chime, and behind Mulder, the elevator doors slide open, revealing an extremely startled older couple.

“Get the next one!” yells Skinner, slamming the button to close the doors again. At the same time, Scully is hit by the strongest urge to push yet, and she bears down, grunting involuntarily in a way that would probably have embarrassed her to no end, had she not been wholly preoccupied by the searing pain in her abdomen and pelvis.

“OH MY GOD IT’S COMING!” yells Mulder, grabbing at his hair, now almost completely out of his head. Dimly, in the apartments beyond the elevator, Scully hears people counting down. It’s about to be midnight.

“CATCH IT, YOU IDIOT!” shrieks Skinner, and thankfully, as the pain reaches an almost unbearable crescendo and Scully screams, Mulder comes back to himself and reaches down, carefully guiding the tiny, slippery form from Scully’s body. There’s a half a second of terrifying silence... and then, blessedly, the elevator is filled with the indignant cries of new life. 

Mulder sits back on his haunches, the squalling newborn in his hands. His eyes, swimming with tears, are about to bug out of his head... and Scully realizes that he’s so overwhelmed, he has no idea what to do next.

“Your shirt,” she barks at Skinner, who jumps. “Give Mulder your shirt!” Skinner stares, confused. “To wrap the baby! We don’t have any blankets or towels!” Understanding, Skinner rips off his dress shirt, not even taking the time to unbutton it all the way, and thrusts it at Mulder, who tenderly wraps it around their new daughter.

The baby’s wailing mingles with the cheers of partygoers throughout the building welcoming in the new millennium. Still on his knees, Mulder crosses the few feet to Scully’s side and places the baby in her arms. Scully hungrily takes in every detail of her, from her dark hair and button nose to her tiny fists, clenched tightly, as she manages to work her arms out from under Skinner’s shirt.

Next to them, Skinner crouches down to get a better look. “Congratulations, agents,” he says, grinning. “She’s perfect.” Mulder smiles.

“Congratulations to you, too, Uncle Walter,” he says, and Skinner chuckles, flushing with pleasure. Outside, they can hear loud, off-key renditions of “Auld Lang Syne,” and Mulder leans over and gives Scully a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Scully,” he says, and she smiles.

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

\-------------------------------------

Mulder paces up and down the hallway, bouncing the squalling baby in his arms, waiting for her cries to finally cease. Scully, still exhausted from giving birth two days ago, has just finished nursing her, and Mulder had sent her back to bed, promising that he’d calm the fussy baby so her mother could rest. Elizabeth Margaret Mulder, it’s becoming apparent, is every bit as capable as her mother is at voicing her displeasure whenever circumstances are not as they should be.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” Mulder murmurs in the infant’s ear, rubbing her back, trying to coax out a burp, in case that’s what’s upsetting her. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Elizabeth continues crying, her tiny legs kicking in distress.

Mulder thinks back, suddenly, to his dream, the shared hallucination he and Scully had had months ago, when they had finally come to an understanding about what each of them had thought their future together should look like. He remembers the song he’d sung the baby in his dreams... and taking a deep breath, he begins singing it to Elizabeth.

_“Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes,_  
_And save these questions for another day.”_

The lines bring a smile to his face. If Elizabeth is anything like either of her parents, she’s likely to have nothing but questions as she grows up. He imagines, as he continues singing, all of the things their daughter will ask them, all of the arguments he and Scully are likely to have over how to answer her.

 _“Remember all the songs you sang for me_  
_When we went sailing on an emerald bay?”_

Scully will have to be the one to teach her to sail, he thinks to himself. The only thing he’ll be able to teach her about boats is how to throw up over the side of one without getting anything on herself. There will be plenty to teach her himself, though... how to tell a phony picture of a UFO from the real thing, why the Yankees are far superior to the Red Sox, how to shoot a free throw. Though, he thinks to himself, wryly, Scully might actually be better at teaching Elizabeth about baseball than him.

_“Goodnight, my angel, now it’s time to dream,_  
_And dream how wonderful your life will be.”_

Elizabeth is quieting down in his arms as he reaches the end of the song, and he buries his nose in her hair, smelling her sweet scent, and closes his eyes. For the first time that he can remember, all is as it should be in his life. He has Scully, sleeping down the hall... and while Elizabeth might have derailed his plans to propose at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, the ring is still in his pocket, and he’ll have another chance soon enough... and besides, they’re a family already, more of a family than any ring or priest or judge or piece of paper could make them. 

_“Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby,_  
_Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.”_


End file.
